The Forgotten One
by ThreeCheese
Summary: The story you are about to read is one that never got the chance to be told. Rebeca Barlow has been passed around all of her life. She has no friends and no family, and currently lives on the streets of London. But her whole world is about to be changed.
1. Anti Prologue

****DISCLAIMER****

_**If I were J.K. Rowling I would be swimming in a huge pile of money and basking in the glory of my awesomeness. Not writing lame stories on the internet. Also let it be known that practically every thing in the following story, excluding Rebeca and a few adjectives, belongs to Ms. Rowling. There. I have said it. Now let us never speak of this again.**_

****DISCLAIMER****

In regular stories, this would be the place in which you would find the prologue. The chapter that explains how the character, whose story you are about to follow, got to this point in their lives. Well, in this case, this is impossible. If I were to tell you the history of Rebeca Barlow, you would know more about her than she does.

You See, Rebeca's earliest memories were from when she was six, and because of a lack of fish in her diet, they were all very vague. She had been passed around too many times for anyone to tell Rebeca her history. And, to tell you the truth, no one really knew themselves. At least, no one who was in the position to tell her.

I will, however, convey to you the little Rebeca does know about her past. If you are annoyed at the vagueness of the description; just imagine how Rebeca feels.

At the age of two, Rebeca was left at a London orphanage. Young kids usually go fast, but no one wanted her. She suffered the taunting of the other orphans until the age of 5 when she was put in the foster care program. Her foster parents were the proud guardians of twelve other children, none of whom got along very well with their new foster sister. The other twelve children demanded so much attention that quiet little Rebeca remained overlooked. She was sent to a local public school where she was picked on for being an orphan, and a poor one at that.

Rebeca, in an attempt to avoid the torment of her peers, became even more invisible to those around her. Sometimes it was as though she managed to blend completely into the background. When she was eight (approximately), Rebeca lost her temper. Her foster siblings were fighting over what to watch on the television. She got frustrated, yelled, and at that exact moment, the television set exploded. Rebeca's foster parents, who were extremely religious, realized that Rebeca was the cause. They hollered, "witch-craft" and kicked her out of the house.

I believe it was raining that night.

Rebeca, frightened, confused, and more alone than she had ever been in her entire existence, wandered the streets of London. For about a week she spent the nights in side alleys and kept out of sight, until the point when her hunger began to impair her judgment. One night she stumbled upon a group of kids who were laughing and eating around a hearty trashcan-fire. She attempted to steal some their food, but tripped on her way out. The kids were on her in a heart beat. Six of the kids, including the "leader", wanted to teach her a lesson, but the other, who evidently had some sway in the group, was impressed that Rebeca had managed to sneak by them and nick a can of beans from right under their noses.

The next thing she knew, Rebeca was a part of a gang of street rats. The boy who had convinced the others to let her join became her mentor. He helped to hone her stealth skills, as well as how to pick pockets and a bit of combat training. At first Rebeca didn't enjoy the idea of being a part of that life, and opted to stay back at the hide out and prepare meals, But after much persuasion from her mentor Dylan, her skills improved.

After two years of living on the streets, Dylan accidently wandered onto another gang's turf and was killed. Rebeca was there. None of the other gang members wanted much to do with her after that. They blamed her for Dylan's death, claiming that she should have either fought with Dylan and won or died trying. They would have kicked her out of the gang, but they were already down one member and none of them could deny that she was an asset to the group. The settled for having as little to do with her as possible.

To sum it all up: Rebeca had been abandoned in one-way or another by everyone she had ever known.

Including the woman who created her.

J.K. Rowling created the character of Rebeca so that Harry Potter would have someone in his life that would never feel sorry for him. Even though he didn't know it, Rebeca's end of the stick was far crappier than his. However, because Rebeca was not very vocal and her back-story was not reveled, the publicists saw nothing but a quiet boring character with no real necessity to the plot. J.K.'s earliest manuscripts came back with notes like: '_Too Boring_', '_This character won't capture attention'_ and '_Rebeca - Dispensable?'_

And so, J.K. was forced to take her favorite and most thought out character and lay her aside.

The story you are about to read is one that never got the chance to be told. That of a girl, whose only wish was to be loved, and her journey to achieve that dream.


	2. The Magpie

****DISCLAIMER****

_**fan fiction**_

_**(noun)**_

_**1: A genre of imaginative amateur writing that uses characters and events from mass entertainment or popular culture **_

_**2: A story written by someone with a lot of time on their hands about a Book, Movie or song that they are sadly obsessed with**_

_**3: The story you are about to read**_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 1

The Magpie

Rebeca sat on her usual bench in Vauxhall Park and watched the people pass. The park was busy for a Monday. It was a bright clear day in late July and there were many people out for an afternoon stroll. American Tourists taking pictures of robins, Businessmen out on their lunch brakes, family's enjoying picnic lunches, people and their dogs romping about with Frisbees. All in all, the air was relaxed and enjoyable.

They had no idea.

Rebeca watched as a fat American tourist got his wallet stolen by two small boys. They ran away, smiling proudly at their prize. They had taken the whole wallet. It would probably be found later in a rubbish bin somewhere. The American waddled away towards the model village camera at the ready. He wouldn't notice it was gone until much later. Rebeca looked at the boys' retreating backs. They were still so young. She recognized them as being part of the gang and made a note to inform Bob about it later. She knew that in order to maintain the peace she had to share the park with others, but that didn't mean she liked it. It was a rookie mistake, stealing the entire wallet off of a tourist. It caused an uproar when tourists lost most of their identification. It wouldn't be too hard to determine that it had gone missing in the park. Before too long signs would be put up, warning people of reported thefts. They would be on the look out for suspicious characters. Such as a girl, who came to the park and sat on a bench every day for hours. Soon Her Park would no longer be safe to work.

She looked around her again, her eyes falling on a handbag sitting next to a woman who was watching her children play, momentarily inattentive of her possessions. She considered it for a moment but decided against it. She didn't want two instances of petty theft reported in the park today. Besides, she had already gotten her big take today.

Rebeca had come a long way since she was first introduced to the world of pick pocketing. She was now ever watchful of anything she could get her hands on. Her eye was usually drawn towards shiny things such as watches or bracelets. This attraction to the unattainable had been the reason Dylan had lovingly christened her "Magpie". The name had stuck, even if the others didn't use it lovingly. Dylan had explained to her that shiny things were usually expensive, easily missed and damn near impossible to steal. That didn't stop her from trying though. When she had first come back with a ring stolen right off someone's finger, the gang was all very impressed (against their wills). None of them were willing to try it themselves, claiming that it would be suicide, but they had no problem letting Rebeca take one for the team. After Dylan died, she had gotten more reckless, now having nothing to lose.

Rebeca looked down at the woman's wristwatch she had just nicked. It had caught her eye from a mile away. It was sleek and silver-y with what looked like tiny diamonds sprinkled around the face of the watch. As soon as it caught her eye her fingers had begun to twitch. She had had to make actual face-to-face contact with the woman in order to steal it, something she tried never to do. Rebeca hoped that the lady she had stolen from wouldn't think twice about the girl she had met in the park when she reported the incident to the police.

The watch glinted in the sunlight. It would sell for a lot of money, but it was hot. There was only one person she knew who would be willing to buy it. Rebeca placed the watch in the handmade pouch she had with her at all times. She got up off her bench and left the park, making her way past the noisy cheerful crowd unnoticed. She usually didn't leave the park this early, but Fletcher only hung around for so long. It was a long walk from Vauxhall Park to Fletcher's Street corner on Charring Cross Road. But Rebeca knew the way. She walked through the twisting, winding city alleyways for nearly an hour before reaching her destination.

Fletcher was a short, smelly, shifty man who would cheat you out of the clothes off your back if given the chance. Rebeca didn't like working with him, but due to his complete lack of morals, there were some things only he was prepared to handle.

'Well now', said Fletcher grinning at Rebeca as she approached 'if it isn't The Magpie! A pleasure.'

'Fletcher'. Said Rebeca curtly. She was in no mood for this man's false pleasantries. 'I got something for ya.'

Fletcher's yellow grin widened. 'Ahh Mags,' Rebeca flinched at the abbreviation 'you always bring me the nicest things.'

Rebeca pulled out the watch and tossed it to Fletcher who caught it and brought it up to his face to examine it with a masterful eye none but a crook can posses.

Rebeca watched him closely. Fletcher who appeared to be in a permanent state of inebriation, had certain tells. She knew how to tell weather or not he liked something. And she knew that the more he liked something the more money she could squeeze out of him. She could see Fletcher's mouth start to water. He liked it.

'Well Mags' said Fletcher grinning at Rebeca 'I'd be more than 'appy to take this orf your 'ands. 'Ows twenty pounds sound?'

Rebeca just stared at him.

"No?" Said Fletcher his grin starting to fade "'all right. 'Ow's forty then?"

Rebeca continued to stare.

"Fine" said Fletcher, fighting to maintain his smile "Eighty. And not a pound more."

Rebeca Sighed. Fletcher smirked, pleased that he had won. His smile faded however when Rebeca grabbed the watch out of his hands and made to turn away. Fletcher grabbed her by the arm, stopping her from leaving with the prize.

"All right, All right! Blimey you'll be the end of me" he pulled a wad of pound notes from out of the pocket of his dank over coat and stuffed it into Rebeca's hand. "Two 'undred. And that's really all I can give you."

Rebeca tossed the watch back to Fletcher and quickly examined the money before pocketing it.

Fletcher stuffed the watch into his overcoat and slunk away grumbling. Rebeca watched as he melded into the throng of people walking down the busy street. She watched as people sidestepped him as they passed, as though afraid of catching his poverty. She wondered if she would be like him when she was his age. She wondered if she would reach his age.

She sighed and turned away from the people and made her way back through the dark deserted alley.

Back to the Gang.

The gang didn't like her and she didn't like them, but they needed each other. Rebeca needed their protection from the police and rival gangs. And Rebeca brought in the biggest game and she was the only one who was able to get Fletcher to give one pound more than his original offer. Rebeca hated to admit it, but being affiliated with the gang on these streets was a lot safer than being alone.

Though Rebeca did her best to be as independent as possible.

Rebeca had gained enough reputation within the gang to have a certain amount of trust. As long as she filled her quota she was allowed to come and go as she pleased. The rest of the gang was under very strict schedules. Every member had to do their jobs in order to keep up their situation. The gang was probably run with just as much efficiency as a beehive.

By the time she reached the abandoned where house the gang inhabited, night had fallen. They had got a fire going and were cooking tonight's supper. Rebeca's stomach growled, but she couldn't get distracted now. She walked right past the enticing smell of baking beans and Headed toward the Drop spot, where Bob, the leader, was logging all of today's takes. He couldn't help but be impressed when Rebeca handed him the money. He counted it, then surveyed Rebeca warily. "Good job, Magpie" he said. Rebeca nodded and headed over to the warm glow of the fire. Even in late July, the nights could be cruel to those without a sufficient roof over their heads. Some of the younger members stared at her as she passed with a mixture of fear and admiration. Even the girl who handed her her portion of food, looked at her with a certain amount of reverence. Rebeca took her beans to a spot as far away from the fire as she could get without escaping the reach of its warm glow.

The beans were warm, but bland. However, a warm meal was always welcome for people like her, and she ate them with out complaint. Although she wished for salt.

"That's The Magpie, don't you know nofink'?"

Rebeca looked up. The two boys from earlier that day were seated a few feat in front of her, heads bent together, conversing in would-be-hushed tones.

"I've never seen her before though". Said the smallest of the two

"'Corse you haven', Davey." Said the other, in an impressive tone, obviously put on for his friend. "Nobody sees The Magpie les she wan's to be seen."

"Why's she called The Magpie Sean?" Davey asked

"Well, no one knows her real name, you see" Said Sean, glad for an audience. "She just showed up here one day. Called herself Magpie. She's the best grabber in the whole of London. Gets big stuff too, no just wallets like the rest of us, but jewels and stuff."

"Honest?"

"Yeah, Joey says she once stole jewels righ' off the queens head. That's the reason why she ain't got no name. Well one of the reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I heard that when she come here, she started trainin' with this bloke, Dylan. Once he taught her everyfin' he knew…. She _killed_ him!"

"What?"

"Stabbed him. Made it look like it was Rawly's crew that done it."

"_Cool_!"

Rebeca put down her half finished beans and walked out of the warehouse.

So that's what people thought about her. That she was a murderous thief on the run from the law. Someone to idolize.

This was a new turn of events for Rebeca. These kids were noticing her. They were talking about her. They looked up to her. Rebeca wished that they would ignore her just like everyone else. This was not the person that she wanted to be. She didn't want to be the cold streetwise Magpie. She hated The Magpie. And she hated them for loving The Magpie. Any admiration that the group showed was directed to the part of herself that she hated. It was true that as The Magpie she was teased a lot less, but Rebeca was still hiding.

Rebeca made her way to her place. She ate meals with the group, but she tried to have nothing more to do with them. She had found her own place near by. The nights could get hard, but she needed to be alone with her thoughts.

She made her way through the labyrinthine back alleys towards her place, not really paying attention to anything. Suddenly something caught her eye. She bent down between two garbage cans and picked the something up. It was what looked like a large shard of what used to be a crystal bowl. Rebeca held it up to the glow of the moon. The light danced beautifully off it but It was absolutely worthless. Rebecca pocketed it and continued on her way. Rebeca had an attraction to shiny things and what ever couldn't sell she kept. She kept her small hoard in an old shoebox at her place.

Rebecca squatted in the attic space of an old abandoned building. It was hard to find and even harder to get to, which suited Rebeca just perfectly. As she made her way up the side of the building, she suddenly realized just how tired she was. Not just from that day. She was tired of life. She reached the entrance and moved the tarp out of the way. The space Rebeca occupied was cramped and very bare. Consisting of only her make shift bed and her shoebox. It took only a moment to take in the entirety of the room. Because of that, it took Rebeca only a moment to see the strange man standing in the corner, smiling at her.


	3. Unexpected Hope

****DISCLAIMER****

_**THINGS THAT BELONG TO ME:**_

_**My Laptop**_

_**Rebeca Barlow**_

_**My unassuming wit**_

_**My left Shoe**_

_**THINGS THAT **_**DON'T**_** BELONG TO ME:**_

_**Nicaragua**_

_**The L.A. Lakers**_

_**Harry Potter (and any thing affiliated)**_

_**My right Shoe**_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 2

Unexpected Hope

Rebeca was so startled that she nearly fell back out of the building. She caught herself, pulled out the knife that she carried with her at all times and brandished it at the man. She quickly looked him over; taking him in. He was a tall spindly old man, with long silver hair and a long silver beard and was wearing a very ugly, very purple suit.

The man continued to smile at her, paying no heed to the knife pointed at his face. He didn't look like a thug or a cop, but he did radiate a sort of unmistakable power, despite his frailness.

"I'm sorry to have startled you Miss Barlow." Said the old man, as though he had not just broken into someone else's house and had a knife pointed at his face. "This seemed the only opportune place to speak to you in private."

Rebeca stared at him. No one had called her by her given surname since she had left the foster home. In fact, it had been so long since anyone had called her anything but Magpie, that it took her a moment to register that it was she to whom he was referring. How did this stranger know her name?

"I would also like to apologize for the lateness of the hour." Said the old man, still smiling pleasantly at her. "Normally I would be tucking into bed with a cup of tea and a good book by now, but you are a very busy girl. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Professor Dumbledore."

He paused, as though inviting Rebeca to make inquiries. Rebeca however said nothing. She was still unsure what to make of this man and would say nothing until she knew more. So she continued to stare warily at the alleged "professor".

"I assure you, there is no need for weapons," the old man said, indicting the knife, ready in Rebeca's hand. " I am not here to attack you. I am here to invite you to attend my school."

If Rebeca had been expecting anything, it wasn't that. None of this was making any sense to her. For a brief moment she hoped that she had fallen asleep and all this was a dream. But, no, that was impossible. Rebeca hadn't allowed herself to dream in years. This was real. She could tell. She just wished that she knew what this man was about and why he was staring at her in that… way. She didn't even have an adjective to describe the way he was looking at her. Invasive?

"Perhaps you would feel more comfortable seated?" said the old man, gesturing to the bed. Rebeca didn't move.

"Perhaps not" smiled the old man, his blue eyes twinkling in that… curiously indescribable way. "Well then, I hope you will not mind if I sit down then?" He didn't wait for a response this time and instead made his way to the bed and sat down

Rebeca immediately felt slightly safer with the strange man sitting down. She took the opportunity to move out from in front of the opening and into the corner opposite the old man.

"Now, Miss Barlow," said the old man once he had made himself comfortable "as I was saying, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School. And I am here to offer you a place there. You see, Hogwarts is a school for magic. You, Miss Barlow, are a witch."

Rebeca had been hoping that this conversation would start to make even a little bit of sense, but it had just taken a drastic turn for the worse. Rebeca lowered her knife in surprise. A witch? Her? That was impossible. If she was a witch shouldn't she have magical powers? There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about her. This man must be mad. It would explain the suit.

"Yes a witch." Twinkled the man "There is magic in the world, Miss Barlow. Though, given your unfortunate circumstances, I understand your skepticism." Rebeca frowned at the word. "In fact, your delicate situation is exactly the reason I am speaking to you tonight. We were unaware of your particular conditions until a few weeks ago, when, in attempting to send you your letter, we discovered that you, in fact, have no address."

The old man reached into the jacket of his plumb coloured suit. Rebeca raised the knife again, but all he pulled out was an envelope. He extended it to her, inviting her to take it. Rebeca was still wary, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her. The knife still ready in her hand, she cautiously edged forward. She got only as close as she needed before snatching the letter and retreating back to the corner.

She was wary about removing her eyes from the old man, but he seemed to be fully entranced by the twiddling of his thumbs.

She looked down at the heavy envelope of yellowed parchment. On the front, in green ink were the words:

_Miss R. Barlow_

_The Attic Space_

_Arlington's Shoes ltd._

_Vauxhall Rd, _

_London_

Rebeca had not been aware that she had been residing in an abandoned shoe factory.

She broke the seal on the back and pulled out two sheets of parchment. She labored over the letter. She had stopped attending school after the MacGuillun's had kicked her out. She had been halfway through her third year of primary school at that point. She had trouble deciphering the joined up writing and there were a lot of words she didn't know, but eventually she got the gist of it. She put the sheets of parchment back in the envelope and looked at the man. At… Dumbledore. He was claiming that he was a wizard who taught children magic. The letter proved nothing. She had heard stories about people like him. Men who led children away with promises of candy and Disneyland. These children usually didn't come back. This man was simply insane. The only thing that was bothering her was how he knew her name. She was positive that no one she knew now, knew her as anything but Magpie. Even the kids who had been around when she first joined, probably couldn't remember.

"I can see you still do not believe me." Smiled Dumbledore "And I am afraid that our conversation can not proceed until you are convinced. Please feel free to ask questions, Miss Barlow. You have not said a word since you got here"

The absurdity of that comment struck Rebeca. He was the one who had ambushed her. Arrived unexpected and unwelcome in the place where she slept. If he had wanted to have a polite conversation over tea and cakes he had chosen the wrong way to go about it. She was on the verge commenting on this before she considered that this really was the only place he could have talked to her privately. He couldn't have approached her at the gang's headquarters where he, magic or no, would have been attacked and apprehended on sight. Nor at her bench at Vauxhall Park, where his ugly suit and talk of magic would have made him stick out like a sore thumb. Also, by drawing that kind of attention to himself, he would have drawn attention to Rebeca at the same time. Something that she did not want. Now that she had thought about it, she realized that there is no good way of telling someone they are a magical being, and that Dumbledore had chosen the most sensible rout.

Not to say that she believed him or was any more comfortable with his sudden presence.

Dumbledore was twinkling expectantly at her. She decided to give. She did, after all, have questions.

"How do you know," she asked, still ready with the knife. "How do you know I'm a witch?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Ahh, Excellent question. Every Witch and wizard is born with something called "the trace". Whenever magic is performed by, or near someone with their trace still activated, a sort of magical signal is sent to The Department of Underage Sorcery at The Ministry of Magic. Whenever a child from a non-magical upbringing, like yourself, has their first burst of magical energy their names are added to a list. You see, The Ministry tends to watch children from muggle – that is to say non magical – family's more closely than those from wizarding decent. When you are still below the age of eleven, The Ministry keeps track of what kind of magic you are producing. Just to make sure it isn't anything too big. They also keep track of what area you are in. The only trouble, Miss Barlow, is that, in your case, the last burst of magical energy was over two years ago. It is very natural for children to gain control of there magic as they gain control of there emotions. The Ministry, therefore, took no notice of it. As I said earlier, it was not until I was at the MacGillun's front porch that we realized that you had moved. I contacted The Ministry and they were able to pinpoint your trace signal. Once I discovered what had happened, I realized that I had a much more delicate situation on my hands than just another magically inclined child living amongst the muggle community."

That had to be the most absurd, complicated and weirdest story Rebeca had ever heard. So crazy, in fact, that Rebeca was inclined to believe it. No one could have made up a story like that. Unless he was mad. A possibility she had not completely ruled out. Yet Dumbledore had a stillness about him that mad people do not possess. Was it possible that she was a witch? No. Not possible. If she were a witch then she should be able to do stuff. Like make things fly or glow or… blow up.

"Wait," said Rebeca, an unpleasant thought dawning on her "are you saying that when the TV blew up two years ago… it wasn't just bad luck... It was a burst of magic?"

"Yes" said Dumbledore, simply.

The weight of that information hit Rebeca harder than she thought it would. All this time she had let herself blame the MacGilluns for being unreasonable. Allowed herself to be angry with them for kicking her out for no reason. But, all this time, they had had a reason.

It was her fault.

Rebeca had always believed that her misfortunes were caused by a string of bad luck. But what if it was all because of her? What if _she _was the reason she never had a proper home? What if _she_ was the reason everyone left. What if _she_ was the reason Dylan…

Dumbledore seemed to know what she was thinking.

"Even though the destruction of the television was caused by you, you were not to blame. You were only a child. Your foster parents had no right to expel you from their home. Even if they were not your flesh and blood, they took an oath to care for you as if you were. We cannot control what we are, Miss Barlow. I am sorry that this had to happen to you. But I hope that one day, when things are better, you will be able to look back at this experience as something that made you strong. I can see the strength in your soul, Miss Barlow. That is a rare thing to have indeed. Especially at your age."

Rebeca couldn't look at Dumbledore. It was as though his eyes were looking right through her. As though he could see all of her, inside and out. She was used to people overlooking her. She had grown accustom to it. Come to expect it. What Dumbledore was doing was a completely foreign situation to her. She didn't much care for it.

Rebeca felt tears starting at the back of her eyes. She fought to keep them at bay. She didn't like crying. Especially not in front of other people. Especially not in front of him.

Dumbledore was growing more and more convincing, but she still wasn't certain. She had had her hopes and dreams shattered too many times to believe things lightly.

After she had composed herself, she looked back up at Dumbledore. He was still looking at her in that same annoyingly probing way. She was ready for him this time, and hid her emotions to the best of her ability. She had one last thing to say to Dumbledore and she could not be crying as she said it.

"You're a wizard?" she asked, her voice jerky with the effort of holding back tears.

"Indeed."

"Prove it." Rebeca breathed.

Dumbledore frowned at her. Only slightly but it was still noticeable. Rebeca fought her hardest not to let her emotions betray her, but in her increasingly vulnerable state they were bubbling dangerously close to the surface now. Tears, unwelcomed and unwanted, began to well up in her eyes. She would let them get no further than that. She would not cry in front of this man.

She saw the wobbly outline of Dumbledore move. She tried to blink the tears away, so that she could see him better, but they would not budge. She felt a hand grasp onto her arm firmly. Her impulse was to shake it off, but before she could, an odd sensation came over her.

Everything went dark and it was as if she was being pressed hard from every angle. She couldn't breathe. _This is it_. She thought. _He's killing me. This must be what dying feels like_. She had just resigned herself for the worst, when, all of a sudden, the sensation vanished

Rebeca gasped as the cool nights air rushed into her deflated lungs. She staggered slightly, regained her footing and opened her eyes. As soon as she did, it was as if the air had been knocked out of her all over again.

Rebeca was no longer in her attic. She wasn't even in the city. She was standing on a deserted country road. The only light was from the moon and the stars, shining serenely overhead. The only sounds were from a few sheep, bleating sleepily in the distance.

"I am sorry if I alarmed you" said Dumbledore, smiling down at Rebeca's astonished face. "But it seemed to me like you could do with some fresh air"


	4. Under The Canopy

****DISCLAIMER****

_**Ok, let me make this abundantly clear.**_

_**Rebeca is mine. I made her up. The story she is in and the characters and situations that surround her belong to J.K. Rowling.**_

_**It's incredibly obvious.**_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 3

Under The Canopy

All Rebeca could do was stare. She stared at the serene country road, she stared at the twinkling night sky, She stared at the surrounding fields, she stared at Dumbledore and back again. And even though she was staring as hard as she could, she could still not believe what she was seeing. How had they got here? Where was here? How had she been unaware that it was possible for a night sky to be filled with so many stars?

She was tremendously confused.

"What… what happened?" she asked, dumbfounded.

Dumbledore twinkled down at her. "I brought us here using Apparition. Wizards are able to use this means to travel from one point to another almost instantaneously. To put it simply, Miss Barlow, I 'Proved it'."

He certainly had. Rebeca nodded, pocketing the knife. Dumbledore smiled at this.

"I see that you are finally beginning to trust me."

Rebeca shrugged as she looked up at the stars, marveling at the unbelievable magnitude of them all.

"Excellent!" Exclaimed Dumbledore "We're making headway! Come, stroll with me. We have much to speak of, and what better way to discuss serious matters than when walking beneath a canopy of stars.

With that, Dumbledore set off along the road. Rebeca, startled by his sudden movement hurried after him, trying to match his long strides.

"Now," said Dumbledore after Rebeca had caught up " I take it you have decided to accept your position at Hogwarts?"

Rebeca hadn't been aware that she had had a choice. She thought about it for a moment. It had been so long since she had attended school. And she didn't have exactly fond memories of the place. But this was no ordinary school. This was a school of magic. If she knew magic she would never have anything to worry about again. She could fix every thing.

"Well… Yeah" she said to Dumbledore

"Splendid." he said, pleasantly, "We shall get your school things tomorrow."

An alarm bell went off inside Rebeca's head.

"I haven't got any money," she said quickly. Although, she thought, she could get some for tomorrow, but not enough to buy a whole year's worth of school supplies.

"Not to worry," said Dumbledore, drawing a small leather pouch from his pocket and handing it to Rebeca. "There is a fund at Hogwarts that provides gold to those students who are in need of assistance."

Rebeca's ears pricked up at the world 'gold'. She opened up the pouch and looked inside. There were a number of oddly shaped coins. There were some small brown ones, a few larger silver ones and, sure enough, gold pieces. She closed the pouch and quickly squirreled it away.

"You may have to buy some of your things second hand, but I can help you find all the things on your list."

Rebeca looked up at him startled. "Are you coming with me, then?"

Dumbledore looked down at her, frowning curiously once again. "Of course, if you wish it."

Rebeca imagined walking down some busy street with Dumbledore. Him pointing out all the best shops and her clinging to his hand, following him, listening to him, trusting him, depending on him.

"No." she said, "I think I can manage on my own."

She didn't want to depend on anyone. The people she depended on always ended up leaving. At any rate, Dumbledore struck her as the kind of man who caused a spectacle wherever he went, and Rebeca preferred to go unnoticed.

Dumbledore frowned at her for quite a while before he answered.

"Very well." He told her exactly how to get from her attic to a pub called the Leakey Cauldron. Rebeca vaguely noted that it was very close to Fletcher's Corner where she had just been only hours before.

"…Once you get inside, ask for Tom, the barman. He'll let you through."

Rebeca nodded solemnly. She couldn't help but think she had hurt his feelings, refusing to let him accompany her. But she was certain that she had to do this alone.

"Now," said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly again, "We have found ourselves in the very unfortunate situation of you being without a legal guardian." Rebeca nearly stopped dead in her tracks. She did not like the direction this conversation was headed. "Hogwarts is a boarding school," Dumbledore continued, "so you will stay there during the school year. The question now remains where will you go during the holidays."

This time, Rebeca did stop moving. Her hand went into her pocket and closed around the knife. "I'm not going back," she said in the firmest voice she could muster. Dumbledore stopped and looked back at her.

"Back where?" he asked.

"The orphanage."

Dumbledore surveyed her. "There are other options beside the orphanage." He said, gently.

"I'm fine on my own." She said.

"I'm sure you are," said Dumbledore "But don't you agree that you would do better with someone looking after you?"

Rebeca shook her head, fervently. She knew she was coming across as childish, but he didn't know.

"It's safer being alone" she said.

Rebeca and Dumbledore stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Very well. You may continue living where you are, on the condition that you will be checked on periodically by an adult wizard to make sure your living conditions are up to par."

Rebeca frowned but nodded. It didn't seem like she had much of a choice in the matter.

"You are still under age and therefore need a legal guardian," said the old man firmly.

Rebeca opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, a scruffy brown owl landed on top of Dumbledore's head.

"Ah yes" said Dumbledore, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He detached a scroll from around the owl's leg and the disheveled creature flew off as Dumbledore unrolled the scroll and read it.

"Good, good" said Dumbledore, folding up the parchment and tucking it away in an inside pocket of his suit. He noticed the stunned look on Rebeca's face and smiled.

"Wizards send each other letters via owl post. It's rather handy."

Rebeca nodded absently.

"Well, Miss Barlow, I will review your case and come up with a solution that will suit us both." Dumbledore reached into his suit and pulled out a silver pocket watch.

"Goodness! Is that the time?" As he examined the watch it glimmered from the reflection of the moonlight. Rebeca felt her fingers twitch. She watched carefully as the watch disappeared into its respective pocket.

"I do believe it is well past time to be off." said Dumbledore, smiling down at her and extending his arm. Rebeca took it, carefully positioning herself next to him. She wrapped her other arm around Dumbledore's waist, as though for added support, strategically placing her hand as she did so.

The squeezing, crushing sensation came over her once again. In the midst of all this, Rebeca forced her hand into Dumbledore's pocket, closing her fingers around the watch. As suddenly as it had before, it all stopped.

Rebeca spun away from Dumbledore, inhaling deeply and working to regain her footing. As she did so, she slipped the pocket watch into her pouch. She was very proud of the stealthiness of the way she had done that.

"Well now," said Dumbledore, "I think we have been over everything. Ah yes! One last thing. We must discuss your thieving."

Rebeca's heart skipped a beat. She took an involuntary step back from Dumbledore.

"Now, because of your special circumstances, I will excuse all thievery up to this point. However, be warned. It must stop."

Rebeca could only look at him. He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. She couldn't just go up to Bob and tell him she wasn't going to steal for him anymore. She was going to have enough trouble explaining her sudden scholastic aspirations. There was no way Bob would let Rebeca affiliate herself with the gang if she was away for most of the year and_ not_ be stealing when she was here. Without the protection of the gang, there would be no way she could survive on the streets.

"It's not that easy" she said finally.

"I realize that" said Dumbledore "however, if the thievery continues, and I will know if it does, I will have no choice but to expel you from Hogwarts. The decision is yours. Now, if you would kindly return my watch, I will be on my way."

He extended his hand. After a moment, Rebeca reached into her pouch, pulled out the watch and placed it in Dumbledore's outstretched hand.

"Thank you" he said. Rebeca watched as the prize slipped back into Dumbledore's pocket, where she would never see it again.

"I assure you Miss Barlow," said Dumbledore, noticing her gaze, "This particular watch would not have fetched you much on a muggle market."

"I wasn't going to sell it," said Rebeca under her breath.

Dumbledore, however, herd her and frowned.

"Please remember, Miss Barlow, all things worth having are worth working for. I urge you to get out of the habit of filching anything that catches your eye. That kind of magpie-like behavior can only lead to trouble." Dumbledore glanced in the direction of the old shoebox, then back to Rebeca.

"I hope to see you soon, Miss Barlow. It was… quite a pleasure to meet you."

With that, he turned on the spot and vanished with a faint pop.


	5. A Shoebox Full of Dreams

****DISCLAIMER****

_**Why, yes, I am aware that I am not J.K. Rowling, nor do I have any affiliation with her or anything within her novels.**_

_**And, Yes, I am also aware that I suck and should not attempt the use of symbolism and metaphor in my "writing".**_

_**Thank you so much for pointing that out. **_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 4

A Shoebox Full of Dreams

Rebeca stared at the spot where Dumbledore had vanished. Vanished without a trace, leaving no sign that he had ever been in the tiny room. Save for an extremely overwhelmed Rebeca.

She really had no idea what to think. It was all too much and too crazy and had happened too fast. One moment she was coming home after a tiring day of pick pocketing, and the next, there was an old man whisking her off to random country roads and telling her she had magical powers. It was unbelievable. It was crazy. She let out a sigh and sank down onto her bed. It had happened. She had finally snapped. All those years of solitude and neglect had forced her mind to concoct a farfetched way out. Yep, that explained it. Dumbledore was a figment of her imagination, and all the strange events of that night were nothing but sweet delusion.

Rebeca reached into her pocket and her fingers closed around the pouch of coins Dumbledore had given her. She felt the smooth mettle objects through the rough leather of the pouch. It was real. All of it had been real. Everything Dumbledore told her was true. She was a witch. With magical powers. She had a real place at a real school. A place in another world. A world where anything was possible.

It was all too good to be true. And yet here she was, feeling the truth in her hand. Here it was. All good and all true. Rebeca felt her heart begin to race a little faster. She was getting excited. Finally, there was a way out. Finally…

'_Don't do this'_, Rebeca thought to herself, shaking her head vigorously, bringing herself back down to earth. There had been many times when she had thought there was an opportunity for her to escape the misery of her existence, and every one of them ended up with her back in misery, worse misery, on account of her built up hopes being smashed to pieces. What made this situation any different than the others? Well, magic, but that wasn't a guarantee that everything was gonna turn out all sunshine and roses for Rebeca. No. She wasn't having it. She wasn't going to let her spirit be crushed yet again. She couldn't handle that. She was much better off here in reality. With no expectations of something more than what she was worth. It's not like she was completely miserable here. Well… She knew it was possible to be more miserable…

Rebeca let out a sigh, closing her eyes tight. Resolve was set upon her. Tomorrow she would continue on with her life as though nothing had happened. She would do her best to forget everything. That meant getting rid of the wizard money. Perhaps she could hock some of it. Fletcher was always looking for bits of mettle he could melt down. Tonight didn't have to be a total waste.

Rebeca reached back into her pocket to retrieve the pouch and she felt a sharp pain on her finger. She withdrew her hand sharply. She had pricked her finger on something. The knife? That had never happened before. She gingerly reached into the pouch again and pulled out the culprit. She had cut herself on the shard of crystal she had found earlier that night.

She held it up, closer to her face, and it caught the light coming in from the opening in the attic. A brilliant cascade of colour emanated from the little piece of broken glass.

It amazed Rebeca what people could throw away. Sure, it was broken and small, but it still held so much beauty. But people didn't see the beauty, they only saw rubbish. They didn't take the time to hold it to the light and let it shimmer.

Rebeca stood up and walked over to her shoebox. She took off the lid and placed the shard delicately into the box. The box was full of things the world had deemed trash. An old key, a cracked snow globe, a picture-less frame and a shard of mirror. She surveyed the objects for a moment, trying to understand what she saw in them that others didn't.

Rebeca pulled the little leather pouch out of her pocket and looked at it, quietly. This little bag of coins was her ticket to a new path, a new road on which to walk. Dumbledore had invited her on it, but no one had said that she couldn't test the ground first. A plan of action had already begun to form in Rebeca's head. She would go to that magic market tomorrow and see if Dumbledore was telling the truth. That day's take had been so large, Bob wouldn't mind if she missed one day of work. She could learn more about the world of magic and if it didn't live up to her expectations, she could make a clean break and go back to her normal life. After all, chances like this only come 'round once in your life. There was no harm in giving it a shot.

The first rays of the early morning sun were shining into the attic by now. Rebeca hadn't slept, but that wasn't so unusual for her. She pocketed the gold once more and made her way down the thick and twisted vine that snaked its way up the side of her building. It would take close to two hours to get to Charring Cross Road, but Rebeca was used to walking. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was actually walking towards something.


	6. Sparks Fly Up

****DISCLAIMER****

_**So, Yeah… I don't own Harry Potter. I am not making any money off this. I do not intend to infringe any copyright. I did make Rebeca up though! …sortof…**_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 5

Sparks Fly Up

It was just past 8:00 on Tuesday morning and already Charing Cross Road was swarming with passers-by. People on their way to work, others strolling along, window-shopping and such. The streets were a sea of movement. All save for a solitary girl standing unnoticed in the middle of the sidewalk. Rebeca was staring at a creaky old sign, that the surrounding people seemed not to see, swinging slightly in the gentle summer breeze.

It was here. Just like Dumbledore said it would be. So far so true. Rebeca clutched the straps of the empty rucksack she had taken from a lost and found bin. She took a deep steadying breath and pushed the door open.

The pub was surprisingly large considering it was smushed in-between two other shops. It was dark and dingy yet Rebeca found it oddly homey. The pub was not very crowded. There were a few funny smelling people in odd clothing scattered around the room. All in all, Rebeca didn't find it very impressive. If the entire magical world was as bleak and as poorly lit as this, she wasn't sure if it would be all that much of an improvement.

She approached the Bar where an old bald man was standing, polishing a glass. He had been looking at Rebeca since she had entered. Although she usually could easily go unnoticed, it was nearly impossible for a minor in a pub not to stand out like a sore thumb.

"Hi" Rebeca said as she reached the Bar. "I need to get some things. For school"

The Barman peered down at Rebeca and grinned. He had no teeth.

"Muggle-born, are you?" he said, with a surprising amount of diction considering he was all gums. Rebeca nodded.

"Well, follow me then, deary"

The barman put down the glass and beckoned Rebeca to follow him to the back. He led her through a door to the back garden. It was a wholly unimpressive sight, It was small completely enclosed by high brick walls, and was completely empty except for a few rubbish bins.

The Barman saw her unimpressed expression and bared his gums at her again. He pulled out a long thin stick from within his robes and tapped a brick on the back wall with it. As soon as wood touched brick, the solid wall began to shift. Rebeca took a startled step back as an opening formed itself within the wall. In a matter of seconds an archway had appeared, through which Rebeca could see a twisted, cobbled street almost as busy the one on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley" gummed the Barman. Rebeca looked up at the toothless grin, doing her best to regain her composure, and nodded.

"Thank you" she said, curtly, and made her way into the brightly lit street.

It was like nothing Rebeca had ever seen before. The people were all dressed in robes in an assortment of vibrant colours. There were all sorts off stalls and shops along the street selling a variety of strange and intriguing items. Rebeca could not stop staring. There were so many interesting things to look at. She was also aware that in her old baggy clothes she stuck out in stark contrast to the bright exuberance of Diagon Alley.

Rebeca walked along the street, peering into shop windows, entranced by everything around her, her eyes darting everywhere unsure as to which wonder to settle on. Eventually, her eyes fell on a building that made her stop. It towered over all the other buildings, pristine looking and as white as snow. Emblazoned above the huge bronze doors was: _Gringotts_.

The building looked so stately and important, Rebeca could only imagine the wonders that lay within. There were people coming in and out of the bronze entrance way. Rebeca's curiosity was piqued. She headed towards the building. She was halfway to the entrance when she noticed the little creature in the red and gold uniform standing at attention next to the doors. Rebeca had never seen anything like it. What ever it was it had long fingers and a sharp clever face. Its eyes glinted as it bowed to Rebeca as she passed. It was a little off putting. Its glinting eyes seemed to be judging her. She tried to shake this off. The bronze doors had led her into an anti-chamber of sorts; High silver doors faced her. They had an inscription engraved on them. As Rebeca made to open the doors, her eyes alighted on one word: _Thief._

Rebeca stopped with her hand clasping the handle, and hastily read the engraving.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

Rebeca pulled back her hand, sharply, from the door, as though it had burned her. There was more to the inscription but Rebeca had read enough. She was not welcome here. She turned around and headed back out the bronze doors avoiding the gaze of the creature bowing her out. Rebeca hurried away down the street, no longer looking at all the shops and stalls, but keeping her eyes cast down, doing her best to shake off the feeling of dread that had seized her. After she had put a sufficient amount of distance between her and the building, She stopped walking and took a deep steadying breath. She realized that she probably over reacted, but she felt as though that message was meant specifically for her. She shook her head. No. That was silly. Still, Rebeca was certain that she was never meant to venture into Gringotts; whatever it may be.

Rebeca supposed it was time to start shopping. She reached into her pouch and pulled out the envelope that Dumbledore had given her the night before. She rifled through it's contents pushing aside the letter and what looked to be a train ticket and pulled out the second piece of parchment, which had a list of all the supplies she would need for the school year. She surveyed the list. There were a lot of things to buy. She had never actually shopped for herself like this before. She wondered if she would have enough to buy some new clothes. She had never had new clothes before.

Rebeca pocketed the paper, looking around her, trying to get her bearings. She had almost reached the end of the alley. She was considering if she should walk all the way to the end and start her shopping from there when another building caught her eye. The shop across the way was narrow and shabby looking and normally Rebeca would not have looked twice at it if not for the faded sign on the front:

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine wands since 382 BC. Rebeca walked towards it, slowly, as if some invisible force was drawing her to it. Wands. Magic wands. No doubt they would be expensive. She wasn't sure exactly how much money she had, but Dumbledore had told her she would have to buy most of her things second hand. She was sure that she wouldn't have enough for a brand new wand. Rebeca peered into the dusty window. Inside lay a single wand on a worn purple pillow. The wand wasn't by any means fancy or extravagant. It was just a piece of wood that had been carved into a more attractive state. Even so, Rebeca felt a longing build up inside her. She wanted that wand. That simple piece of wood could allow her to solve all of her problems for once. But there were more things on that list than just a wand. She couldn't blow all her money on one. Maybe when she had gotten everything else she might have enough left for a new wand. She pressed her hand to the glass. She would allow herself just one more moment to look before moving on to find a second hand shop.

Suddenly the wand on the pillow began to spark. Rebeca drew her hand back in alarm as the thing began to erupt green and purple sparks. The sparks ricocheted off the glass making an awful clatter.

The door to Ollivanders burst open and a grizzled old man stepped out, his wide silver eyes fixing immediately onto Rebeca.

Rebeca didn't have a clue what was going on, nor was she certain that she was the cause of it; all she knew was that the man thought she was. Without a moment's hesitation, Rebeca turned and ran for it. Unfortunately, she had only taken a few strides before the old man was at her side, his knobbled hands clenching to Rebeca's arm like a vice. She tried to pull away but the man's grip held. She was caught.

"Come along" said the old man in a soft voice, and he pulled Rebeca into the shop.

The inside of the shop was as dingy as the outside. There were rows upon rows of thin boxes piled right to the ceiling.

"Curious" the man muttered to himself as he led Rebeca into a chair. "Curious."

Rebeca was very nervous now. Not even a day in the wizarding world and she was already in trouble. And she hadn't even done anything (she didn't think). She shouldn't have run. Innocent people don't run. The man would probably never believe her now.

The old man bent down so that he was face to face with the seated Rebeca, his pale silver eyes digging into hers.

"Yes", he said, "you are an old soul, aren't you?"

Rebeca wished old men would stop looking into her soul. It was really creeping her out. The man straightened himself and headed over to the display window and picked up the wand, which had now stopped sparking.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, his unblinking eyes surveying Rebeca, "This is the first wand that my ancestors ever made in this shop. A rare combination of hawthorn and Thestral tail hair. It was, of corse, a complete failure. No one was able to harness it's magic. Thestral tail hair, although powerful, is much too unstable; we of corse stopped using it soon afterwards. It was deemed that this wand was never meant to be sold. It's been sitting in that window ever since. For centuries it has never shown any sign of magic. Until today."

Rebeca was confused. Why was he telling her this? Was she in trouble or not? The man extended the wand to Rebeca.

"Here" he breathed, "take it".

Rebeca did not want to take it. She was sure she was being tricked into something unpleasant. But the old man's unnerving stare made her comply. She hesitantly reached out and grasped the wand. All at once it was as though a great warmth had entered the tips of her fingers and made its way through her entire body. It was as though a part of her she hadn't been aware was missing had finally found it's way back to her. Once again sparks flew up happily from the wand.

"Fascinating" smiled the man, "fascinating. Well, young lady, it looks to me like a perfect match"

Rebeca started. A match? She couldn't buy this. If a new wand cost a lot of money, she didn't want to think how much a wand that was centuries old would.

" I can't afford this," she said standing up and holding the wand out for him to take, but he merely smiled unblinkingly at her.

"Like I said, that wand was never meant to be sold"

Rebeca looked at him confusedly. Surely he wasn't suggesting that she just take the wand free of charge? That was insane.

"But-" she stammered.

"Now, If you don't mind" interrupted the man, briskly steering Rebeca out of the shop. "I do have other customers to attend to. Good day"

"But-" Rebeca tried again, but the man had already ushered her out of the shop and shut the door firmly behind her.

Rebeca stood at the threshold for a moment, absolutely floored. What the crap was that about? A complete stranger had actually given her a valuable magical doohickey for free. Rebeca looked at the wand still clutched in her hand. There had to be something wrong with it. That was the only explanation she could think of. She had half a mind to go back in there and insist that the crazy old man take the defective thing back. But something stopped her. She didn't want to give the wand back. It felt like it belonged to her. She had never felt that before.

Rebeca slid the wand into her pocket. _Enough of this nonsense_ she thought to herself pulling out the supplies list. She mentally crossed off '_1 wand_'

Rebeca spent the next few hours inside the second hand shops. She bought all her school supplies for cheap. The rucksack was full to the brim with instruments and ingredients. She also had a slightly dented pewter cauldron filled with tatty old books. She now had everything on the list except robes. Rebeca stopped outside a robe shop. A _first hand_ robe shop. She still had quite a bit of money left. Not enough for a set of fancy colourful robes but maybe enough for a set of plain black ones.

Rebeca entered the shop, excited about the idea of new clothing. Almost the moment she entered a stumpy woman scurried over to her.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked.

"Er, yeah. How much-?"

"Say no more, dear!" said the woman "Come this way. There's another young man being fitted as we speak"

Before she could say another word Rebeca was ushered onto a stool where a witch began fitting her. On a stool next to her was a pale boy about her own age. Rebeca's heart skipped a beat. This boy was probably about to enter his first year at Hogwarts as well.

"Hullo" said the boy, in a rather haughty tone. "Are you for Hogwarts as well?"

Rebeca nodded. She smiled shyly at him. She couldn't help it. She was excited. This was a new start for her. For once she wouldn't be outcast. She would be surrounded by people like her. This boy was the first person she was meeting from her new life.

The boy looked her up and down, taking in her unkempt appearance. He smirked. Rebeca's smile faulterd. She recognized that look. It had followed her.

"My name's Malfoy" drawled the boy "Draco Malfoy"

Rebeca blinked. That had to be one of the oddest names she had ever heard. Judging by the way the boy had proclaimed it, his name was supposed to mean something to her. It didn't.

"Rebeca Barlow" she replied in what she hoped was a friendly tone of voice, "nice to meet you"

"Barlow" echoed the boy, frowning unpleasantly at her. "I don't recall ever hearing _that_name before. Who are your parents?"

Rebeca's heart sank. Her smile left her face.

"I'm an orphan," she said shortly.

"Oh," said the boy, his voice dripping with disdain, " So then, who raised you?"

"I grew up in an orphanage," Rebeca said, losing confidence by the second.

"Oh," said Malfoy "so you were raised by muggles then?" Rebeca nodded.

The look that came upon Malfoy's face was one she hadn't yet encountered growing up. It was a look of pure disgust.

"I see"

Rebeca lowered her head and stared fixedly at her feet. A part of her was fully aware that she could beat that skinny little oddball into pulp if she so chose. She was fully aware that she had met and dealt with people much more threatening than that poncy brat. And yet she kept her head down and her mouth shut. Why? Because she had never been able to deal with the people that crushed her hopes.

Rebeca had thought that this was going to be a new life for her, a fresh start. She thought things were finally going to be different. But she was wrong. They were the same. She _still_didn't fit in. Why? Once again, because of something she couldn't control: her roots. She had let her guard down and gotten hurt. Bad. The story of her life.

_Well_, she thought to herself, _that's what you get for dreaming_.

Rebeca continued to look down at her feet, even as the stout witch brought in another boy to stand on the other side of Malfoy.

The boy, however, did draw Poncy's attention. He seemed much more impressed with the other boy than he had been with Rebeca. He was badgering the new kid with a lot more questions than he had asked her. Rebeca was glad she had been spared the inquisition. She had no idea what Malfoy was on about. Neither, it seemed did the other boy. He also seemed to be getting increasingly annoyed with Poncy's haughty attitude.

"I say, look at that man!" said Poncy, referring to someone outside Rebeca's restricted field of vision.

"That's Hagrid," said the other boy "He works at Hogwarts"

"Oh" said Poncy, his voice once again dripping with disdain, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the game keeper," said the other boy, icily.

"Yes, exactly" said Poncy "I heard he's a sort of savage. Lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and end's up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant"

"Do you?" Rebeca could hear the smirk on his face. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead"

Rebeca looked up. The boy was thin and had messy black hair, and glasses that had been visibly repaired with sellotape multiple times. He was wearing old baggy clothes that looked about seven sizes to big for him, making him look even skinnier by comparison.

Rebeca could tell that he was a lost child. A lonely one. Just like her.

"Oh," said Poncy in that same disdainful tone "sorry. But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and Wizard if that's what you mean." Said the dark haired boy defensively.

"I don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" With that, Poncy turned and looked pointedly at Rebeca, who dropped her eyes once more.

"They're just not the same" continued Poncy "they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine."

All this was clearly for Rebeca's benefit, she knew. She tried to brush it all off but the words still cut deep.

"I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families" Poncy concluded, then, addressing the dark haired boy "what's your surname, anyway?"

Before the boy got a chance to answer the witch fitting Poncy said: "You're all done, Mr. Malfoy."

Poncy hopped off the stool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose" He said to the dark haired boy. The boy didn't reply. After Poncy left, there was a silence. Rebeca didn't dare look up. What if this boy, this fellow orphan, had the same take on children not raised within the magical world as Poncy. Was she doomed once again to ostracization? If that was the case, there was absolutely no point in spending this money on school supplies. If she was going to be miserable and ignored and hated at Hogwarts the magic wasn't that much of a bonus. She was contemplating if she could return all of her purchases, as she had been given no receipt, when the boy spoke to her.

"I was raised by muggles"

Rebeca looked up at him, startled.

"What?"

The boy was looking at her, smiling pleasantly.

"My aunt and uncle raised me; they're muggles. So I never had any idea that any of this existed"

Rebeca smiled with relief. She wasn't the only one.

"It's all a bit over whelming isn't it?"

"Yeah," she said, "There's a lot to take in all at once"

"I'm Harry," said the boy, extending his hand. Rebeca took it.

"Rebeca"

"Nice to meet you" said Harry

"Yeah" God, she felt stupid.

"So, your parent's are muggles as well?"

"Er… not really" Harry looked confused. Rebeca wasn't quite sure what she should tell him. They had just met and she didn't want to scare him off. But she didn't want to lie either. "I mean," she continued, "my foster parents are muggles"

"Foster parents?"

"Yeah. The MacGillun's. They were the ones that raised me. For the most part."

"Oh." Said Harry "I'm sorry"

"Don't be" said Rebeca uncomfortably. She didn't like people pitting her.

"Are they here?" asked Harry.

"Oh. No. They're…" Rebeca paused once again unsure what to say. She didn't want Harry to know that they had kicked her out. If he felt sorry for her for having foster parents, God knows how he would react to her not having foster parents. "They're not too keen on all this, to tell you the truth."

"Neither are the Dursleys" said Harry, nodding. "My aunt and uncle, I mean. They tried to keep me from finding out that I was a wizard. I had no idea about who I was until Hagrid brought me my letter."

He gestured to a great hairy man standing outside the shop trying desperately to keep the two ice creams he was holding from dripping onto his coat.

"Is he with you?" Rebeca asked. The man was gigantic and would have struck her as menacing if he weren't currently trying to lick ice cream drips off his cuffs.

"Yeah," said Harry, fondly. "Don't you have anyone with you?"

"Oh. Er… No. Someone offered, but… well, I like to do things on my own."

"Wow" said the boy, and for a horrible moment Rebeca thought she saw derision in his bright green eyes.

"You're a lot braver than I am. I couldn't imagine doing all this by myself."

"It's not that bad," said Rebeca, inwardly beaming, "I'm kind of used to it."

"Yeah" said Harry, "I kind of know what you mean. I've never really had very many friends"

"Me neither" said Rebeca.

Harry nodded " Well, hopefully, at Hogwarts, things will be different"

Rebeca smiled and nodded as well.

"Hopefully at Hogwarts, not everyone's as poncy as that other kid"

Harry Laughed

"Hopefully"

The witches finished with their robes and both Harry and Rebeca paid. (Thankfully Rebeca had enough money) The two of them walked out of the shop and shook hands once more.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts" said Harry

"Yeah, maybe then we can figure out what that boy was on about"

Harry laughed again and they parted ways. And as Rebeca made her way back up the twisted street to the muggle world, she couldn't have felt happier.


	7. What Lies Ahead

****DISCLAIMER****

_**Yeah, so by this time you all may have realized that I do indeed suck. I apologize for my sucky-ness but there is very little I can do about this. I'm done school now, and unemployed, so I have tons of free time, so hopefully the sucking will decrease. (But I wouldn't count on it.) As an apology I was planning on uploading a nice long chapter for you. But as I just noticed it's been over a year since my last update I am uploading some of it now. Chapter 7 is coming, and it will be nice and long. Hopefully this will tide you over.**_

_**Also, I don't own Harry Potter.**_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 6

"What Lies Ahead"

Rebeca walked through the labyrinthine alleys of London thinking about her plan. Or lack of plan, as it were. She was on her way to talk to Bob. More specifically, to tell him that she would not be stealing for him any more. She had no idea how to go about it.

It had been a feat, getting up the side of the building whilst carrying an entire years worth of school supplies, but Rebeca had managed it. She put it all in one corner of the room, taking care to lay her brand new robes folded neatly on top of the pile. She had stowed her wand at the bottom of her cauldron for safekeeping. When that was done she had headed out again for the hideout to talk to Bob, only realizing now this was easier said than done. The gang didn't like deserters.

What on earth could she say? Certainly not the truth. She couldn't very well tell him that an old man transported her to a field and told her she was magic. She would have to think of another way to tell him she was leaving. A way that would make Bob let her leave. Rebeca wasn't accustomed to making up stories. She rarely found the need. Silence was her general response to most questions. And, oh, would there be questions. Why was she leaving? Where was she going? Why would she assume she was allowed to leave? A stream of never-ending questions with a million wrong answers. And she needed to answer all of them right.

As she approached the Hideout, Rebeca passed a few of the kids playing baseball. Rebeca had never been much for games. Being small and scrawny and female, she was often picked last for teams or over-looked entirely. But baseball was the one sport she did actually enjoy playing. She was a fast runner, being so scrawny and wind-resistant. And she hadn't faired too poorly with the bat either. But she hadn't picked up a bat since school, and the kids here never asked The Magpie to join in their fun. The center fielder missed a pop fly as he watched Rebeca enter the building. Rebeca did her best to ignore this and headed strait for Bob.

"Hey there, Magpie." He said, looking up at her. "What's up?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Er… yeah, sure." Said Bob, looking confused. He led her to a corner that was momentarily unoccupied.

"So?" said Bob, looking inquisitively at her.

Rebeca hesitated. The moment had come and her mind was blank. Bob was looking impatiently at her. She needed to say something.

"I've… been contacted by my foster parents." The words had left her mouth before she even realized she had thought them.

As she fought to hide her surprise, Bob's raised eyebrows showed his.

"Your foster parents?" repeated Bob in utter disbelief. "What'd they want?"

"Well…" said Rebeca, hoping that the lies would keep coming. "They wanted me to come back. To live with them again. But I said I wouldn't. I told them I was doing fine on my own."

"You didn't tell them anything, did you?" Asked Bob, threateningly.

"No, 'course not." Said Rebeca, defensively. "The thing is, see, since they're still in charge of me they want me to go to boarding school."

"Boarding School? What Boarding School?"

"It's some school in Wales, or somewhere."

"And you wanna go, do you?"

Rebeca shrugged.

"You think you're too good for this, Magpie?" said Bob, dangerously. "We've taken care of you for who knows how many years, and now you want to run off and abandon all this? Leave us, your family, behind?"

Rebeca said nothing. They weren't her family. She didn't have a family.

"Look kid, you're good, no denying that. But we can afford to loose you. The question is can you afford to loose us?"

Yesterday her answer would have been 'no'. Now she wasn't so sure.

"If I don't go they're gonna wanna know why." She said "They're gonna have me followed and they're gonna find out about all this. I have no choice. Do you think I wanna go to school? It's wicked strict. They make you wear uniforms and everything."

That did it. Bob was one of those kids who left home due to his hatred of restriction. To him, mandatory uniforms were the worst things ever and no one in their right mind would voluntarily consent to wearing them. Rebeca saw him absorb it all. His anger slowly fading into resignation.

"When are they making you go?"

"September first." Said Rebeca, doing her best to sound annoyed. "But I'm pretty sure we get summers off"

"Right," Said Bob, mulling things over. "Tell you what. You go this first year. See what happens when you get back. Maybe you won't have to go again. But you're still part of this gang until September, alright?"

"See that's what I'm afraid of" Said Rebeca, hurriedly. "If I get caught, it's not like before. People are watching me now."

Bob thought for a moment while Rebeca held her breath. "Ok," he said after a while. "You're pretty good with Fletcher, aren't you? From now on you work as middleman. Whenever we need to deal with him, you're the one who does it. Does that work for Her Majesty?"

Rebeca nodded solemnly. That had gone better than she could ever have hoped.

August seemed to crawl by for Rebeca. News of her scholastic adventures spread quickly through the gang. The whispers and stares got more pronounced but Rebeca did her best to ignore them during meals and her daily check-in with Bob. She saw much more of Fletcher than she generally cared to. He, in turn, seemed disappointed that he would only be dealing with The Magpie for the time being, especially since Rebeca was ruthlessly working Fletcher for every quid he would bare to part with. She was determined to get the gang as much as she could in hopes that they would still want her when she returned.

On days when her services were not needed she would sit on her bench in Vauxhall Park. At times she was tempted to steal something, but she contained herself, remembering Dumbledore's threat. She sat there partly because she was used to coming there everyday but mostly because she couldn't stand being indoors for too long. When she was confined to her attic she perused through her schoolbooks. Most of them were longwinded and hard to follow, but they only added to her ever-growing anticipation of starting school. She thought of the dark-haired boy she had met in Diagon Alley, Harry. She couldn't wait to see him again. She was certain they would become friends.


	8. All Aboard

****DISCLAIMER****

_**So apparently, I only update once a year. I'd say it won't become a habit, but let's face it… It kind of already is. **_

_**Once again, I own nothing. **_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 7

"All Aboard"

When the morning of the first finally arrived, Rebeca was up with the sun. She packed everything into her trunk, leaving behind only her bed and the tarp that served as her front door. She surveyed the room that had served as her home for over a year, now stripped bare of almost all evidence of her ever have being there. She had never felt much attachment to the place. It wasn't the best of shelters; the wind and cold always managed to get through the walls, and the gigantic hole, and find their way to Rebeca's shivering form. She couldn't count the times she had almost fallen to her death on the treacherous climb. But it had been hers. Her safe place. She wondered if it would still be hers when she got back. Or would someone else have claimed it? Leaving this place unattended for a year was probably not the best idea, especially if this whole magic thing didn't work out. But what could she do? _Not_ go to magic school just for the sake of keeping her claim on a drafty, leaky old attic? No.

With one last look around the barren little room, Rebeca clambered down the wall with the usual difficulty and, grabbing hold to the end of her trunk, she set off, Perhaps for the very last time. It was worrying, but Rebeca just thought of the magic and wonder that awaited her at Hogwarts, and it made leaving all the more easy.

It was only when she was standing within the station at King's Cross two hours later that she noticed the problem with her ticket.

Her eyes traveled from platform nine to platform ten and back again. Then they traveled back down to her ticket. Nine and three-quarters. She looked up at the big plastic signs again. Platform nine. Platform Ten. Nothing in-between. Only solid brick wall. Brilliant.

Rebeca pulled out the Hogwarts letter, skimming it to see if there were directions she had missed. There weren't. Rebeca started to panic. There was no platform Nine and three-quarters here. She had given up her life, her place, sacrificed everything for a dead end. Had it all been a lie? No. No. She had seen Diagon Alley. She knew there was a completely different world hidden within the heart of London. So the platform must be hidden as well. She stuffed the letter back into her pouch and looked up at the big clock. 10:17. She still had time before the train left.

She saw a guard wandering near the other end of the station. She couldn't ask him, he wouldn't know. Besides, she didn't want to draw attention to herself. She looked at the brick wall. Perhaps there was a lever or button or something that created a door like in Diagon Alley. Maybe she should pull out her wand and start tapping bricks. No. That would be stupid. She'd just have to wait until someone else showed up and get in with them. She looked around her to see if she could spot any oddly dressed adults or children with trunks. There wasn't anyone of note. But the guard was looking at her. Crap. What was it with authority figures and unaccompanied minors? She picked up her trunk, looked pointedly at the clock and then strolled casually to a nearby bench. She sat down and looked around expectantly, as though she was waiting for someone to meet her. As she did, she clocked the guard. He was talking to a woman, pointing her to the right platform.

Rebeca sat and watched the divide between platforms nine and ten. After a few minutes a couple of teenagers approached the wall. They were both wheeling along trunks and one of them had an owl in a cage. Rebeca sat up intently. The two teenagers walked right up to the wall and leaned on it, casually chatting. Rebeca slumped slightly. _False alarm_, she thought as a group of travelers passed in front of the pair. But the moment the group was gone Rebeca sat up straight again. The teenagers had vanished. There was no sign of them or their trunks. In the two seconds it had taken for that group of people to pass through her line of vision, they and their owl had managed to get through the barrier.

Rebeca watched as more and more people, obviously magical, walked up to the barrier and disappeared through it. Unfortunately, Rebeca could not see how they managed it, because they would always wait until a large group of people passed them and then they would be gone.

Rebeca was beginning to get desperate. Time was running out. Unless she figured out how to get through to the platform, she would miss the train. She looked around for signs of any more magical folk and spotted a tall severe looking woman sporting a hat with a large stuffed vulture on it. She was striding purposefully towards the barrier with a dumpy little boy trotting nervously after her. The woman stopped at the wall and gestured to the boy, inviting him to go through. The boy glanced nervously at the brick wall and looked hesitantly at the woman. The woman seemed visibly annoyed as she bent down to speak to him. Rebeca couldn't hear them from where she was, but she assumed that the woman was telling the boy how to get through the wall onto the platform beyond. The boy looked very nervous. He faced the brick wall closed his eyes and ran straight for it. And this time Rebeca saw it. Instead of colliding with solid brick, the boy and his trunk merely slipped through it as though there was nothing there at all.

Rebeca stood up as the woman strode briskly into the wall after him. She wheeled her trunk over. The wall looked very solid. She reached out her hand to touch it and her fingers went right through. Her heart gave a leap of excitement as she looked around to make sure no one was watching. When she saw that the coast was clear she took a deep breath and walked through the wall.

She found herself standing on a platform packed with people all milling about a scarlet steam engine. She was on platform nine and three-quarters.

Feeling extremely pleased with herself, Rebeca made her way along the platform. There was so much colour and noise that Rebeca found herself just as enthralled as she had been in Diagon Alley. There were students of varying ages catching up with their friends, adults talking to each other, reminiscing about their years at school, there were parents trying to convince their weeping children to get on the train, and there were children trying to convince their weeping mothers to _let_ them get on the train. The train itself was full of compartments packed with kids laughing and talking and scrambling for seats.

Rebeca was so busy taking every thing in that it was a good twenty minutes before she realized that she had yet to find herself a seat. She made her way past the packed compartments, still looking around her at everything that was going on. She saw the stern old woman apparently lecturing the round-faced boy. And then through the throng she caught sight of messy jet-black hair. Rebeca's heart leapt.

"Harry!" she called.

He turned around and, seeing Rebeca, smiled.

"Hi!"

Rebeca made her way over to him and they stood, smiling at each other.

"How was your summer?" Rebeca asked.

"Pretty uneventful," said Harry. "How was yours?"

"About the same."

"Do you want to find a compartment?"

"Sure."

The two of them made their way down the train, talking jovially as they did; Harry telling Rebeca about his summer, Rebeca lying to Harry about hers. She still wasn't ready to divulge everything to her new friend just yet.

"This one's free." said harry as they reached a compartment near the end. Harry took his large white owl and put her inside the compartment. Rebeca hoisted her trunk off the trolley and she and Harry managed to get it onto the luggage rack. Harry's trunk however was much heavier than Rebeca's had been. The two of them managed to lug it over to the train, but when it came to lifting it, they could hardly manage more than a few inches. Twice it was dropped. Both times by Harry. Both times on his toes.

"Are you alright?" asked Rebeca the second time Harry let out a yell of pain.

"Yeah," panted Harry, shaking his foot. "I didn't realize how heavy it was when I was packing."

"Want a hand?" Rebeca looked around. There was an older boy with flaming red hair and freckles smiling down at them. Rebeca felt her face flush. He was very handsome.

"Yes, please" said Harry, gratefully.

"Oi, Fred! C'mere and help!"

A second boy came over, identical to the first and with their help they managed to get Harry's heavy trunk tucked away beside Rebeca's.

"Thanks a lot" said Rebeca, giving what she hoped was a charming smile at the boy and his twin. Though it might have ended up looking more like a grimace.

"Yeah, thanks." said Harry pushing his sweaty hair out of his face.

"What's that?" said the twin suddenly, pointing at a thin jagged scar on Harry's forehead.

"Blimey," said the first boy, who was also staring in bewilderment at the scar. "Are you?"

"He is." said his twin "Aren't you?"

"What?" said Harry, looking just as confused as Rebeca felt.

"Harry Potter"

"Oh, him. I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gaped open mouthed at him.

Rebeca was confused. What was going on? Why were these boys acting like that? Was there something about Harry she didn't know? She looked at him quizzically; he seemed to be very uncomfortable with the awed attention he was getting.

"Fred?" came a voice from out on the platform "George? Are you there?"

"Coming Mum" called the first boy. Then he and his twin, with one last look at Harry, left the compartment.

Rebeca turned back to Harry, who had turned red under the twins gaze.

"What was that about?" She asked, hoping for an explanation. But it didn't come.

Harry glanced up at Rebeca and then looked away very quickly

"Oh, er, nothing" he muttered, avoiding Rebeca's inquisitive gaze as he sat down next to the window.

It obviously wasn't nothing. And it was obvious that Harry knew it wasn't nothing. Whatever had just happened it was clear that he did not want to talk about it.

Rebeca was curious, but she wasn't going to press him. She didn't want to ruin their budding friendship by badgering him about something he obviously did not wish to discuss.

She sat down opposite Harry, who was staring out the window, looking out onto the platform, watching all the family's bidding each other farewell. Rebeca wondered if his aunt and uncle had said their goodbyes as lovingly as some of the people outside. For some reason Rebeca didn't think so. Harry had been alone in Diagon Alley and he had been alone on the platform. Besides, there was something wistful in the way he was looking out the window at all the loving families. Rebeca could tell that his family life wasn't all that loving. That was the main reason she was convinced they would be such good friends. She didn't need to know everything about him. He certainly didn't know everything about her. There would be time later for the secrets to come out.

A whistle blew and the people on the platform began to scurry about, ushering stragglers onto the train and saying last minute goodbyes. The train began to move and the people on the platform waved as the train gathered speed and the platform disappeared from view.

"Here we go." said Rebeca under her breath.

Harry, hearing her, turned around and smiled. All trace of his earlier embarrassment gone from his face.

"Are you excited?" he asked her.

Rebeca nodded. For it was true. Her stomach was in knots.

"I'm a little nervous too." she admitted.

"Yeah," said Harry "I know what you mean. But what ever happens, it's gotta be better than what I'm leaving behind."

Rebeca grinned. "Exactly."

"Did you look at any of your school books yet?"

"Once or twice," said Rebeca, vaguely. The truth was she had tried reading them but found the experience rather disheartening. Most of the books were confusing, long-winded and difficult to follow. She hoped the actual lessons would be easier to understand, but she had her doubts.

"I hope it's not too hard. The lessons and stuff." she admitted.

"Yeah," said Harry nodding solemnly. I was thinking about that too. Do you think many other kids come from non-magical families?"

"Dunno." said Rebeca, having never really thought about it "What do you—"

But she was cut off as the compartment door slid open. Standing in the doorway was a tall, gangly, redheaded boy. He glanced quickly at Harry before he turned his attention almost pointedly to Rebeca.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked in a would-be-casual tone, pointing at the empty seat beside her. "Everywhere else is full."

Rebeca and Harry nodded. The boy sat down and quickly cast another furtive glance at Harry before looking away.

Rebeca looked at Harry as well. This boy seemed to know something about Harry too. Both Harry and The boy seemed rather uncomfortable.

The compartment door opened and the first boy and his twin stuck their heads in.

"Hey, Ron." said the boy, addressing the gangly kid sitting next to her. "Listen, we're going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

Ron mumbled something in return.

"Harry," said the twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later then."

"Bye," said Rebeca, Harry and Ron as Fred Weasley shut the compartment door behind him and George. Ron looked very uncomfortable again. He kept glancing at Harry.

"I'm Rebeca, by the way." She said to him, realizing that she had yet to be acknowledged.

Ron looked around at her, a little surprised, as though he had forgotten she was sitting there.

"Ron" he said and then turned almost expectantly to Harry and blurted out "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded a little embarrassed, avoiding Rebeca's eyes.

"Oh-" said Ron, looking just as embarrassed as Harry. "Well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. And have you really got –" He pointed at Harry's forehead "You know…"

As Harry pushed back his messy black hair to show Ron the jagged scar, Rebeca leaned in as well. What ever the fuss was about Harry it seemed to have something to do with this seemingly insignificant blemish. It appeared utterly ordinary to Rebeca. She couldn't see from looking at it why it had caused such a reaction from George and Fred Weasley. Nor why Ron was now staring at it with total awe.

"So that's where You-Know-Who -?" said Ron, not taking his eyes off Harry's forehead.

"Yes," said Harry, evidently knowing 'Who'. "But I can't remember it." He added hastily, flattening his fringe back down over his scar.

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow." said Ron, enthralled.

Rebeca was now completely lost. She was clearly out of the loop on something that appeared to be common knowledge in the wizarding world. Or, at least to those in the Weasley family. Was she the only one who didn't know why Harry was famous? There was so much about the wizarding world that she didn't know.

Ron had suddenly realized how intensely he was starring at Harry and had looked away sheepishly. Rebeca didn't want the conversation to stop. She wanted to figure out why Her new friend appeared to be famous. She didn't want to ask directly, not again. She didn't want awkward silence to fall over the three of them. She wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Are all your family wizards?" She asked Ron.

Ron looked at her, startled. He had forgotten she was there again. This didn't bother Rebeca too much. She was used to it.

"Er – yes, I think so," said Ron "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant. But we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already" said Harry, just as enthusiastically as Ron had spoken to him.

"I heard you went to live with muggles." said Ron changing subjects instantly. "What are they like?"

"Horrible" said Harry grinning. "Well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though, wish I had three wizard brothers.'

"Five" said Ron. For some reason at mention of his brothers he became downcast. He told Rebeca and Harry that all of his older brothers had already come to Hogwarts and apparently all of them had made names for themselves. Ron was feeling tremendous pressure to live up to all of them. A plight he had been subject to all his childhood. And in addition to hogging the spotlight, apparently having five older brothers meant that he never got anything new; just hand-me-downs. He even produced a fat grey rat that he had inherited from his brother Percy.

Rebeca had come across a lot of rats in her life. Personally she did not think that the fat lump asleep on Ron's lap counted as one. It was more like a moldy old sponge that had been left in the sink a bit too long.

"His name is Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff-" Ron's ears suddenly went pink. "I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron looked away embarrassedly, as though he thought he'd let slip an unpleasant secret.

Rebeca thought that he had nothing to complain about. Everything he had mentioned so far didn't seem to her to be anything like problems at all. In point of fact, she was rather annoyed. Here Ron sat whingeing about the fact that he had been raised in a large and obviously loving family, while there were those who's greatest wish was nothing but that. It didn't matter at all that the Weasleys were a bit on the poor side. It didn't matter that Ron had never had anything new. Neither had she. But Ron had something so much better than a new owl, and all he could do was complain.

"You know," said Harry, looking at the downcast form of Ron. "I've never had any pocket money until about a month ago. And I had to wear my fat cousins old clothes."

"I don't think I've ever owned anything new in my entire life," Rebeca said, with much less annoyance than she actually felt. " My foster family has a lot of kids, so I only ever got hand me downs."

"I've never even gotten a proper birthday present," added Harry, "last year I got a coat hanger and a pair of my uncle's old socks."

"I had to borrow money from the school so I could get my school stuff second hand."

Ron was looking significantly less morose.

"And until Hagrid told me, I didn't know about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort"

Ron let out a horrified gasp.

"What?" said Rebeca and Harry. Ron was looking at Harry, flabbergasted.

"You said You-Know-Who's name! I'd have thought you, of all people-"

Rebeca was lost again. They were back on the mysterious subject regarding why Harry was special. Apparently having to do with someone with a name you weren't supposed to say out loud: Voldemort.

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name." said Harry. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn."

"You're not the only one." said Rebeca

Rebeca, Harry and Ron talked for a very long time. Despite the fact that Rebeca wasn't entirely sure what she thought of Ron, she thought the three of them were getting along fairly well. Although Rebeca usually found it difficult talking to people she didn't know, she found herself joining in conversation as opposed to just listening on the sidelines. A few times she was asked questions about herself, and she did the best she could to be as vague as possible without seeming like she was lying. Ron, who had never heard of the foster-care system, asked particularly probing questions. He seemed to not be sure if Rebeca was making it up or not. And for the most part she wasn't, she just neglected to mention the fact that she had left her foster family a few years ago and was now living on the streets of London.

Harry had bought an armload of sweets from a lady with a trolley. Neither Rebeca nor Ron purchased anything themselves but Harry insisted on sharing. As she sat in the train compartment, nibbling on strange sweets and talking with her new friends, Rebeca felt all her anxiety and fear about what lay ahead drift away. This. Just this, right here: This was exactly what she had been looking for. Who cared if she wasn't any good at school? She had finally found friends.

Rebeca had just spat out a peat moss flavored jellybean to the laughter of Harry and Ron, when the three of them heard a knock on the door. It was the round-faced boy Rebeca had watched get through the barrier earlier. His face was blotchy and tearstained.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"

They shook their heads and the boy let out a pitiful wail.

"I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

Rebeca, Harry and Ron looked awkwardly at one another, not exactly sure of what to do. Rebeca was not impressed with this boy. Going from compartment to compartment blubbering to complete strangers about a misplaced toad was not a smart move. What was wrong with this kid?

"He'll turn up," said Harry.

"Yes" said the miserable boy. "Well, if you see him…"

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron, after the boy had left. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quickly as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

He really couldn't. The sponge-rat was lying motionless on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference." said Ron. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

He pulled his wand out from his trunk and had just raised it in preparation when the compartment door slid open again. The crying boy was back but this time he had a bushy-haired girl with him.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she asked in a very bossy voice. "Neville's lost one."

Before they could explain to her that they had not seen any toads in the ten seconds the boy had been away, she had caught sight of Ron's wand.

"Oh are you doing magic?" she asked sitting down next to him. "Let's see it, then."

Ron looked extremely taken aback

"Er – all right."

He pointed the wand at Spongy and recited the incantation: nothing happened. Spongy didn't even wake up.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the bossy girl maddeningly. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise-"

Rebeca stared at the girl. She was talking very fast without drawing in any breath. She was kind of abrasive. Both Harry and Ron looked nonplused as well.

The girl introduced herself as Hermione Granger and she too flipped out when Harry introduced himself; listing off all the books she had read about him in. Harry looked even more alarmed at this, though Rebeca wasn't sure if it was because the girl had read about him or because of the fact that he was in books.

"Do any of you know what house you'll be in?" Granger asked abruptly. "I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, It sounds by far the best."

Rebeca wondered if this girl ever stopped to breathe.

"Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And with that, she and the crying boy left.

"What ever house I'm in," said Ron "I hope she's not in it."

Rebeca agreed. She didn't know much about the different houses; all she cared about was ending up in the same house as Harry. And perhaps George Weasley.

"What house are your brothers in?" She asked Ron.

"Gryffindor," said Ron, gloomily. Rebeca fought desperately to hide her annoyance. Now what?

"Mum and Dad were in it, too." Ron was saying, "I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the House Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?" said Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron. He slumped back into his seat, looking dejected.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to cheer up the perpetually self-pitying boy. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron.

Gringotts? That had been the name of that grand white building in Diagon Alley. The building she had felt so unwelcome in.

"Did you two hear about Gringotts?" Ron said, perking up suddenly, "It's been all over the _Daily Prophet,_ but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault."

A vault. Gringotts must be a bank then. And someone had tried to rob it? Rebeca remembered the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she had read the warning etched into the heavy doors. What kind of person could ignore that?

"What happened to them?" she asked Ron.

"Nothing," he said, grinning, "That's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Nothing? Nothing had happened? Did Rebeca have no reason to be afraid to enter that grand building if nothing happened to thieves? No. But they hadn't stolen anything. And the way Ron was talking, the fact that the intruder had escaped unscathed was unheard-of. No. She had been right the first time. She had no business in Gringotts. At least she knew what it was now. A bank. Something she certainly had no use for.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked, suddenly. Startling Rebeca, who's thoughts had been so far away.

"Er — What's Quidditch,?" she asked.

"What!" Ron exclaimed, looking utterly thunderstruck. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world. There are seven players to a team. Three Chasers, a Keeper, two Beaters and a Seeker. The Chasers fly around the pitch and try-"

"They _fly_?" interjected Rebeca, incredulously.

"Yeah," said Ron "It's played on brooms, isn't it?"

"Flying brooms?"

"'Course. What else?"

Flying brooms. There was a thought. Rebeca had always wanted to fly.

The game of Quiddich seemed complicated; at least the way Ron was explaining it. He kept on having to double back and re-explain rules every time Rebeca and Harry got confused. Which was rather a lot. But Ron didn't seem too fussed. It was obvious that he really liked talking about Quiddich as he found almost nothing to complain about.

Ron was just re-explaining the difference between the Bludger and the Quaffle when the compartment door slid open once again and three boys entered: the one in the middle was Poncey.

Rebeca's heart sank. She had forgotten about him. Had forgotten his horrible pointed face and his stupid lofty smirk. Forgotten how he made her feel: weak and worthless. But now it came rushing back as he stood in the doorway staring hungrily down at Harry.

"Is it true?" he sneered, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment."

He looked intently at Harry's forehead, as though he could see the thin, little scar beneath the hair. "So it's you, is it?"

"Yes" said Harry defensively. He was taking in the two hulking masses on either side of Poncey.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle" he said, noticing Harry's gaze. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy"

Beside her Ron let out a snort. Poncey whipped his head around noticing the two of them for the first time.

"Think my name's funny do you?" said Poncey, his cold grey eye's boring angrily into Ron's. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

Ron's ears turned pink again. Poncey turned his icy gaze to Rebeca. Recognizing her, he smirked derisively before turning his attention back to Harry.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there" Poncey extended his hand to Harry. Rebeca sat very still, staring at Harry who in turn was staring at the outstretched hand in front of him.

There was a moment's pause before Harry said: "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks"

Ron grinned triumphantly as Poncey's smile vanished. He withdrew his hand sharply, glaring daggers at Harry.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter" he said, dangerously. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents." Rebeca saw Harry and Ron bristle. She was shocked. What a thing to say.

"They didn't know what was good for them, either" continued Poncey, smirking maliciously at the effect his words had. "You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and muggle-borns like that one," he shot another disdainful look at Rebeca, who immediately dropped her gaze. "and it'll rub off on you"

Harry and Ron shot to their feet; fists clenched, ready for a fight.

"Say that again." snarled Ron, his face now as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us are you?" sneered Poncey as the two lugs behind him flexed their arms and cracked their knuckles threateningly.

"Unless you get out now" said Harry.

Rebeca was frozen to her seat. She knew Harry and Ron wouldn't stand a chance in a fight against those two pillars of muscle and sinew. She needed to help her new friends. Her knife was in her pocket. She could just reach in and pull it out. But her hand wouldn't move. Poncey's glares and jabs had knocked the carefree confidence out of her. Even though she wanted to move, to grab the knife, to do something, she could not. She could not stand up to this boy.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" Poncey was saying, "We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some"

One of Poncey's body guards reached out towards the pile of sweets next to the frozen Rebeca.

She could stop him. She could reach over and stop him from taking their food. Hadn't she done it a thousand times before when some older kid had tried to bully her out of her fair share? Grab the knife, reach over and stop him. It was instinct. So why was Ron the only one moving?

But before Ron even touched him, the boy let out a yell and pulled his hand sharply away from the pile. Spongy the rat had attached itself firmly to the boy's finger. The boy flailed about the compartment howling in pain as he tried to shake the thing off. Finally, Spongy became dislodged and sailed straight into the windowpane. Before Rebeca had time to process anything, Poncey and his crew were gone and the bossy girl was standing in the entranceway, looking disapprovingly at the compartment.

"What has been going on?" she said in an annoyingly haughty tone.

"I think he's been knocked out" said Ron ignoring the girl and gingerly picking Spongy up by his tail and examining him more closely.

"No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."

Ron shook his head disapprovingly and tossed Spongy back into the pile of sweets. "You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry told Ron about their meeting in Diagon Alley but Rebeca wasn't listening. She had been absolutely useless. More useless than the Sponge. Why, why, why did that little ponce have this effect on her? It wasn't good. Something told Rebeca that this would not be their last encounter with Draco Malfoy. Harry and Ron were quicker to fight than she was, and if she wanted to maintain their friendship she would have to have their backs. If she tried to be invisible to Poncey than she would most definitely become invisible to Harry and Ron as well. And she did not want that.

Rebeca suddenly noticed that the bushy haired girl was still standing there.

"Can we help you with something?" Rebeca asked her. Harry and Ron looked over.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on," she jabbered "I've just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we're nearly there."

Oh man. What was this girl's deal? Why was she so concerned about everyone else's business? As Ron and Bossy snapped at each other, Rebeca thought that between this Girl and Poncey, Hogwarts was shaping up to be a lot less magical than she had originally thought.


	9. Storybooks, Riddles and Legends

****DISCLAIMER****

_**What's This? Two updates in one year? I'm really spoiling you guys. **_

_**Once again, I own nothing. **_

****DISCLAIMER****

Chapter 8

"Storybooks, Riddles and Legends"

Once the bossy girl finally left, Rebeca, Harry and Ron pulled on their school robes. Bossy had been right, the train was indeed slowing down. A voice through the loudspeaker announced they would be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Five minutes. Rebeca began to take deep steadying breaths. In five minutes she would be at her new school with her new friends and her new life would officially begin. She, Harry and Ron stuffed the remaining sweets into the deep pockets of their robes and the three of them headed out into the corridor where the other students were beginning to throng.

When the train finally slowed to a stop, the three of them pushed their way onto a small dark platform. A sign overhead told them they were at Hogsmeade Station.

Rebeca was confused. Weren't they supposed to be at Hogwarts? She was just about to ask Ron when she heard a great, booming voice calling out: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" It was the giant that had been with Harry in Diagon Alley. He was holding up a large lantern and beaming down at them from his immense height. He was much larger up close. "All right there, Harry?" The giant said jovially as he caught sight of him. Rebeca could tell that Harry was pleased to see a friendly face, even though most of the other first years seemed terrified that they would get squashed. Once the giant was satisfied that he had gathered up everyone he needed to, he lead them down a steep narrow path. It was so dark on either side that Rebeca couldn't tell whether they were surrounded by trees, or buildings or simply vast amounts of black.

None of the first years felt very much like talking as they followed the giant blindly through the darkness, not even Miss Bossy Britches. Rebeca herself was focusing on not losing sight of the lantern hanging from the giants massive hand, which was the only source of light to keep the darkness, looming on all sides, at bay.

Just as she was starting to wonder if they would be walking all the way to Hogwarts, the giant called out: "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here.'

And, sure enough, the pathway opened up onto the edge of a large, black lake.

There was a collective 'Oooooh!" from the group.

There, in the distance, on the far edge of the lake, situated on top of a large mountain, was a castle. A grand, glorious castle with towers and turrets; the golden lights from its many glowing windows, shining beckoningly in the darkness, casting glimmering reflections on the surface of the lake. It was like something out of a dream.

"No more'n five to a boat!"

Boat? Rebeca looked around and her soaring heart sank. The giant was pointing at nine little wooden boats stationed at the edge of the lake. They were going to have to cross it. Rebeca would rather they walk.

As she followed Harry and Ron into a boat she could feel her heart racing inside her chest.

Why did they have to cross the lake? This couldn't bee the only way to get to the castle. What if something happened? What if the boat sprang a leak? The lake looked wide, and unfathomably deep. And Rebeca couldn't swim for the life of her. When she had been much younger someone had pushed her into a public swimming pool and she had almost drowned. It had been one of the most traumatic experiences in her life, and she had no wish to experience it ever again.

The bossy girl and the crying boy got in after them. No one else seemed remotely nervous about crossing the lake. Rebeca took a shaky breath. If no one else looked afraid, than neither would she. She mustn't be the odd one out here. She mustn't let Harry think that she was weak.

Rebeca clenched the side of the boat as they all launched forward and the little fleet began to sail. Rebeca dared not look at the deep dark water beneath her. She tried her best not to focus on the boat rocking back and forth or the sound of the water lapping against its sides. Instead she kept her eyes and thoughts fixated on the castle. The Castle that looked as if it was right out of a storybook, full of wonder, and magic and happy endings, that was getting larger and more extravagant and more undeniably real as the little boats glided nearer and nearer to the cliff. To Rebeca, it seemed like a lifetime before the boats glided through a curtain of ivy into an opening on the cliff face. They were now in an underground tunnel that seemed to be leading underneath the castle. Rebeca shut her eyes, every fiber of her being focusing on the few inches of solid wood separating her from the dark waters below.

Finally, the tunnel opened up into a kind of underground harbor and Rebeca heard the welcome crunch of the boats making contact with the rocky shore.

Rebeca got shakily to her feet. There. That hadn't been so bad. True, she hadn't really breathed properly throughout the whole ordeal, but nothing bad had happened. She had crossed the lake unscathed.

Just as she was about to clamber out of the boat after Harry and Ron, Rebeca felt something brush against her leg. Startled, she looked down, and there, sitting on her foot, was a fat ugly toad.

Oh, come on…

"Er... Hey," She said to the crying boy, gingerly picking up the thing and holding it out to him, "This yours?"

The boy's sullen and tear sodden face lit up immediately.

"Trevor!" he cried, reaching out and grabbing the thing. Tears began to well up in his eyes again as he clutched the struggling thing to his breast. "Thank you!" he sobbed at Rebeca, "Thank you so much"

Rebeca wished she had left the damn thing in the boat.

"Don't mention it" she muttered, and hurried to catch up with Harry and Ron.

The giant lead them all up a passage way in the rock. Personally, Rebeca thought that with all the walking and the boats, this was all together not her favorite way to travel.

Finally the giant lead them onto a grassy field and there it was: looming magnificently in front of them. Hogwarts. They followed the Giant up the stone steps and stopped in front of the huge wood doors.

The giant looked back at them all.

"Everyone here?" Rebeca thought that he probably should have asked that question earlier on, as opposed to at the very end of the journey.

The Giant raised his enormous fist and knocked three times. Almost immediately a tall, sharp looking woman with square-rimmed spectacles opened the doors.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall" said the giant proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid." said Professor McGonagall briskly. She struck Rebeca as the kind of person who did everything as efficiently as possible. "I'll take them from here"

She led them through the doors into the entrance hall, which was vast, with high, stone, torch lit walls, and an enormous marble staircase that lead to the upper floors. The first years were ushered into a small room off the hall. They crowded together and looked trepidatiously up at the stern and unwelcoming face of Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." she said, again with the same brisk, no-nonsense tone. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the great Hall, you will be sorted into you're houses."

They had talked about houses on the train. Rebeca didn't really know much about it, but it seemed that the general consensus was that Gryffindor house was the most desirable, and that Slytherin was to be avoided.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school." Concluded the brisk McGonagall. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." And with that she left the room.

Rebeca looked at Harry and Ron.

"How do they sort us into houses?" she asked.

"Some sort of test, I think" shrugged Ron. "Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry looked almost as alarmed as she felt.

A test? What kind of test? She wished that she had studied her schoolbooks more carefully.

Rebeca looked around at the other students and was relieved to see that this time she wasn't the only one who seemed apprehensive. Even Bossy was chattering nervously away to no one in particular. The crying boy looked as though he was going to start up again,

Rebeca didn't blame him this time.

How on earth did they expect her to perform a test? What was she expected to do? And what, oh God, what would happen to her if she failed? Would she be sent away? She didn't think she could take it. Not now. Not after seeing the castle. She never wanted to cross that lake again.

She reached into one of the deep pockets of her robes and wrapped her hand around her wand. How was she supposed to perform magic with this stick? This lifeless piece of wood?

Suddenly, Rebeca heard several kids scream. She whipped around and her mouth fell open.

There, floating in midair, about ten feet above them, materializing from the back wall were about twenty pearly-white, translucent figures.

Ghosts.

They glided overhead; seemingly unaware of the mass of children huddled below. After a few moments, a ghost wearing a large ruff suddenly noticed them.

"I say, what are you all doing here?" he said breaking off from his conversation with a portly monk and staring down at them all.

None of the first years answered him.

Rebeca's mind was reeling. They were ghosts. Real ghosts. Dead people were talking to her.

"New students!" smiled the monk. "About to be Sorted, I suppose? Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Come along now" Rebeca hadn't noticed that Professor McGonagall had returned, but there she was, standing on the now open doorway leading into the Entrance Hall. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Rebeca felt her stomach lurch. The sudden appearance of the ghosts and the idea of life after death had driven the impending test out of her mind. But it was back now in full force. She watched as the ghosts glided through the wall overhead as she lined up behind Harry and Ron and filed out behind Professor McGonagall and into the Great Hall.

It was magnificent. The hall was lit with hundreds of candles, floating on their own in mid-air. The flickering light was reflected in the golden plates and goblets that adorned the four long wooden tables that ran the length of the hall, which made the entire place seem as if it was glittering. And students. Hundreds of students dressed all in black were sitting along the tables. A mass of faces staring at the trail of new students being led by Professor McGonagall.

She stopped them in front of the long head table where the teachers sat. They looked down at the nervous first years, some smiling encouragingly, others staring blankly. And there in the middle of the table, seated in a high-backed ornate chair was Professor Dumbledore. He caught Rebeca's eye and gave her a small smile. Rebeca tried to smile back but wasn't sure if she had managed it.

Behind her she heard Bossy saying: "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Rebeca looked up and her mouth fell open. Had she not heard Bossy, she would have assumed that the Great Hall had no ceiling at all and merely opened up to the heavens. For where a ceiling should have been was only sky. Velvety black and covered with more stars than Rebeca could have believed possible.

Rebeca tore her eyes away from the enchanted ceiling in time to see Professor McGonagall place a dirty, old, pointed hat on a stool. The Great Hall grew quiet as every eye stared intently at the hat. Rebeca could not fathom why. It was nothing special. It was _less_ than nothing special. It was tattered and torn with patches ant rips all over it. What did this old and ragged hat have to do with anything? Was it part of the test? Maybe they had to repair it or something. But soon Rebeca stopped wondering. The hat began to twitch, a rip near the brim opened wide and to Rebeca's utter amazement the hat started to sing:

"_Oh you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge by what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me."_

Rebeca supposed she might have to alter her entire worldview in order to get used to life in the wizarding world. For here it seemed that things normally deemed dull and ordinary actually contained magic and wonder. Here she was, standing beneath an enchanted ceiling listening to a singing hat. And school hadn't even officially started yet.

As the singing hat began to detail how the first years would get sorted, Rebeca felt a huge swell of relief. They didn't have to do anything. Just put on the hat. But as the hat finished its song, the dread began to slowly seep back in. What if the hat put her in the wrong house? She didn't actually care which house she was in; she just wanted to be in the same house as Harry. She had found a friend in him and she didn't think they would see much of each other unless they ended up in the same house.

She applauded along with the rest of the school as the hat finished it's performance and bowed, but her mind was racing. She had to end up in the same house as Harry. If Harry got sorted first than all she had to do was follow him. But if she went first ... They had talked about houses on the train. Had Harry said anything about where he thought he'd end up? No. Not really. Ron had mentioned Gryffindor; all his family were in Gryffindor '_Where dwell the brave at heart_.' That seemed like a possibility.

Professor McGonagall had stepped forward with a length of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." She looked at the scroll and called out "Abbot, Hannah!"

A blond girl with pigtails stepped forward.

They were going alphabetically by surname. Rebeca Barlow would be one of the first sorted. Long before they got to Harry Potter.

What else? Slytherin seemed to be a bad bet. Poncy wanted to be in Slytherin. Harry wouldn't be sorted there.

The hat was on Abbot's head for only a moment before the hat shouted: "Hufflepuff!"

The table on the right erupted in applause as Abbot hopped off the stool.

Rebeca didn't know much about the other two houses, except that the Bossy girl would like to be in Ravenclaw. She supposed the best bet was Gryffindor, but they were still on the 'A's. She still had a bit more time to think before they got to her.

"Barlow, Rebeca!"

Damn it.

Harry looked over at Rebeca and gave her an encouraging smile, which she could not manage to return. She had to make a decision. Now.

She walked shakily towards the stool. Gryffindor. That was her best bet. Harry would probably get sorted into Gryffindor, so that's where she would go too. She felt another cold lurch in her stomach as a horrible thought struck her. Harry might be a Gryffindor but was she? Rebeca had never considered herself particularly brave. Quite the contrary; She might be able to hold her own in a fight, but she had a bad habit of freezing when things got real… She couldn't even stand up to Poncy. How could she ever be considered brave enough to be a Gryffindor? What if the hat realized this and put her in a different house? What if it put her in Slytherin?! What if Harry refused to talk to her and she had only Poncy for company. She couldn't stand that. She needed to be with Harry. She needed to convince the hat to put her in Gryffindor. But how could she trick the hat into thinking that she was brave when she couldn't even convince herself?

All these horrible thoughts and more were swarming through Rebeca's head as she reached the hat. She picked it up with trembling hands and sat down on the stool. As she placed the hat on her head she caught Harry's eye. She saw him give her another encouraging smile before the brim fell over her eyes an she saw nothing but the dark insides of the hat.

She felt her heart beating in her throat, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Then she herd a soft singsong voice inside her head,

"Interesting. Hmm, yes, very interesting, you are a tricky one, aren't you?

'_Am I?_' she thought.

"Oh yes" said the hat. Rebeca started. _It could hear her thoughts._

"Oh, and what thoughts." Said the hat. "You will be a challenge, my dear. There's a definite loyalty. And bravery; no doubt about that. Not a bad mind either. Oh but that determination; that unyielding determination. I can't ignore that. And cunning too. Oh yes."

Cunning. The hat had used that word in the song. In the bit about Slytherin. The hat wanted to put her in Slytherin! Rebeca closed her eyes under the hat and pictured Harry.

'_No_,' she thought, as hard as she could. '_No. Not Slytherin. Gryffindor. Not Slytherin. Gryffindor, please, Gryffindor._'

"Oohh" Said the hat, gleefully. "I see... Loyal to the very end."

'_Not Hufflepuff_.' Rebeca thought, remembering the song '_Not Slytherin. Gryffindor._'

The hat chuckled from inside her head. "And there's the cunning determination. You are steeped with it. But bravery is a close second. Very well... Gryffindor!" The hat shouted the last word for the whole of the great hall to hear. There was an eruption of applause. And relief filled Rebeca.

'_Thank you_' she thought before taking the hat off, placing it on the stool and taking her place at the Gryffindor table.

"First Gryffindor of the year!' Said George Weasley, smiling dreamily over at her from across the table "Congratulations!"

"I knew you looked all right!" piped up his twin.

Rebeca smiled weakly and looked back at the other first years, as Bones became a Hufflepuff and Boot was called to put on the hat.

She had done it. She was in Gryffindor.

Even if the hat had wanted to put her in Slytherin, it didn't matter. She had been deemed brave enough. She was a Gryffindor, and soon Harry and Ron would be joining her. When a blond girl, Lavender Brown, became the next new Gryffindor, Rebeca clapped and cheered along with everyone else.

As Professor McGonagall got further and further down the list, and the hat called out house after house, Rebeca began to get nervous again.

What if Harry wasn't sorted into Gryffindor after all? What if he was sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? Or worse, Slytherin? She was starting to think she had been too hasty with her decision with regard to where everyone would be sorted. Hermione Granger had been sorted into Gryffindor. And, to her utter shock, so had Neville the crying boy. Rebecca would not have predicted that in a million years. If she had been wrong about that, maybe she had been wrong about Harry. Was she to be stuck in Gryffindor with Bossy-The-Cow and Whimpers McSniffles while Harry made friends in some other house and forgot about her?

Professor McGonagall had reached the 'P's and Rebeca's stomach was twisting uncomfortably again. She could see Harry was very nervous as well. He looked very peaky.

Rebeca clapped half-heartedly as one out of a set of twin girls joined the Gryffindors and looked in dismay at her sister sitting at the next table over.

Finally it was Harry's turn. As he stepped forward there were whispers from all around the hall. People were staring intently at him. Some even stood up to get a better look. But no one watched as intently as Rebeca. She tried to catch his eye before he put the hat on, to return the favor of an encouraging smile, But Harry's eyes never met any ones before he sat down and put on the hat.

The hall was dead silent as Harry sat in the stool, his glasses covered by the hat.

Finally the hat opened up its brim and shouted out: "Gryffindor!"

A tumultuous roar of applause and cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table.

George and Fred were jumping up and down as Harry, beaming and quivering with relief, made his way over to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside Rebeca who was just as relieved as he was. They were in the same house!

The rest of the Gryffindors eventually calmed down and Professor McGonagall continued on with the sorting.

Harry leaned over to Rebeca and whispered:

"I don't think I've ever been so nervous in my life."

"Me neither" whispered Rebeca, truthfully. "But at least it's over now."

"Almost, we just have to wait for Ron."

Rebeca wasn't really too worried about Ron, and the rest of the Sorting seemed to fly by (partially because most of the first years had already been sorted) until a very pale looking Ron was called to the Hat and was sorted into Gryffindor almost immediately. Rebeca and Harry clapped loudly with the rest of the Gryffindors as Ron took a seat beside Harry.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said a tall, red haired, bespectacled boy, Rebeca assumed was another of Ron's brothers. Ron smiled weakly as Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll, and carried the hat and its stool out of the hall.

Dumbledore got to his feet, his arms stretched open, smiling pleasantly down at all of them.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Dumbledore sat down again as everyone cheered and clapped. Rebeca's first impression of the Headmaster had been right after all. He was completely mad.

But before she could give it another thought, her mouth fell open once again. Food. Mountains and mountains of delicious-smelling, mouth watering food had appeared out of nowhere and was now covering the full length of the table. She had never seen so much food in her entire life. There was a roast chicken sitting in front of her that would have fed the entire gang for a solid week.

As Rebeca sat staring at the piles of food in front of her, she realized for the first time in years just how starving she actually was. She had become so used to not having enough to eat that her perpetual state of hunger went completely unnoticed by her. But now with all this food presented to her, her stomach let out a loud and painful growl.

She quickly loaded a bit of everything she could reach onto her golden plate and began to eat. It was all she could do to stop herself shoveling everything into her mouth with her bare hands. But she forced herself to eat slowly. She didn't want anyone to guess just how hungry she was. However Ron, whom Rebeca doubted had ever wanted for nourishment, was not so tactful.

The ghost with the ruff was sitting across from Rebeca, Harry and Ron and was looking wistfully at the food.

"That does look good," he said sadly.

"Can't you –?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years. I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

The whole sorting ordeal had driven the ghosts out of Rebeca's mind, but now that her fear was gone her curiosity was back. She was about to ask Sir Nicholas a question when Ron blurted out: "I know who you are! My brother's told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

The Ghost gave him a withering glare.

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –"

"_Nearly _Headless?" Interrupted a sandy-haired boy. "How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

The Ghost looked extremely annoyed.

"Like _this_," He said, irritably, and pulled on his left ear. His head swung off his neck like a hinge and fell onto his shoulder.

The aptly named Nearly Headless Nick looked satisfactorily at the stunned looking first years, and replaced his head back upon his ruff.

He didn't seem quite as keen on talking after that point so Rebeca decide to hold off her questions until later.

Soon, Rebeca was looking down at her empty plate; full up for the first time she could remember. Or so she thought until the puddings appeared, then she discovered she could make room for much more.

As she sat there, happily eating cake, she listened to the conversations around her. Neville Longbottom was telling the other first years a boring story about his own inadequacy. The bossy Hermione Granger was monopolizing the attention of the bespectacled Weasley brother with questions about classes; a conversation Rebeca might have found interesting if held by any one else. George and Fred were talking and joking noisily across the table. Rebeca was just working up the courage to talk to them when Harry suddenly let out a cry, clutching his hand to his head.

"What is it?" she asked.

"N-nothing." Said Harry, lowering his hand and glancing nervously at the High Table.

Rebeca looked over as well, trying to see if there was anything amiss, but all she saw were teachers engrossed in conversation. She looked back at Harry but he was talking to the bespectacled Weasley. He seemed fine, albeit a little less carefree, but overall alright. She wondered what had caused him to cry out like that, and why he had said it was nothing when it was obviously not. Just another riddle about her new friend that she had to figure out.

After the remains of the pudding had vanished and Dumbledore had made some announcements and led the students in the School Song (which was a ridiculous exercise Rebeca hoped never to repeat) Everyone was excused and the new Gryffindors followed the bespectacled Weasley brother out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase towards the Gryffindor dormitories.

Rebeca was very full and very sleepy. She tried to pay attention to the wonders of the castle as they were led up staircase after staircase but after a while she just wanted to sleep. She would take it all in tomorrow.

After many flights of stairs and an incident with floating walking sticks, they reached a portrait of a very fat lady in a very pink dress.

"Password?" she said.

If Rebeca had been more awake she would have been shocked that paintings could talk, but in her current state and after everything that had happened that day, she barely noticed.

The portrait swung forward, and they all clambered through a hole in the wall behind it. The Gryffindor common room was very cozy and warm, full of scarlet armchairs and a bright, roaring fireplace.

"All right then," said the Weasley brother after everyone was inside. "Breakfast will be served tomorrow morning downstairs in the Great Hall, where you will receive your class schedules." He pointed at a door at one end of the common room. "Girls, your dormitory is up the stairs through that door, and boys," He pointed to another door "Through that door. Good night, and make sure you don't over sleep. You don't want to be late on your first day of classes."

"Good night," said Harry waving sleepily at Rebeca.

"See you at breakfast," yawned Ron.

"'Night" said Rebeca helplessly, as she watched her two friends disappear into the boy's dormitory.

Rebeca climbed up the spiral staircase behind the other girls. Even in her drowsy state she felt a little nervous. It should have occurred to her that the boys and girls would be sleeping in separate rooms. And, really it wasn't that big a deal, she would still be spending most of her time with Harry and Ron. She would just be without them at night. But still… After all that stress and worry, she was _still_ entering a strange place with no friends. The only girl she had spoken to was Granger, and Rebeca already knew that they would not get along very well.

At the top of the staircase, the five girls finally reached a door with a sign that read '_First Years_'. Lavender Brown pushed open the door and they all entered their room. There were five four-poster beds hung with scarlet curtains. Rebeca noticed that all their belongings had been brought up and that each of their trunks had been placed at the foot of the beds. Rebeca's grubby old trunk assigned her to the bed to the right of the door.

As the other girls chatted cheerily away to one another, Rebeca changed silently into her pyjamas staring at the bed. _Her_ bed. It had been years since she had slept on anything but floor. And now she had a soft warm bed all to herself.

Rebeca suddenly felt very wary. Life at Hogwarts seemed to be great. It was warm, there was food and beds and actual doors and windows instead of tarps. What if she couldn't go back?

She knew she couldn't stay at Hogwarts all year round. If she grew accustomed to food and beds, when she had to leave, she might not be able to go back to hunger and floor.

Despite her sleepiness, she sat down on her trunk, rather than the bed. She was convinced that once she lay down she would never be able to get back up again.

"Hey, Rebeca, right?" said Lavender Brown.

"Yeah," said Rebeca, surprised she was being spoken to.

"Weren't you talking to Harry Potter?" asked Lavender.

"Er," said Rebeca fully aware that all eyes were now on her. "Yes."

"What's he like?" asked Lavender, hungrily.

"He's alright," said Rebeca, uncomfortably.

"God, he's gorgeous!" said Lavender. "I didn't think he'd be so cute!"

"Isn't it weird that he's in our year?" giggled the Patil twin, Parvati.

"What happened, exactly?" asked Leine Rivers, looking kind of embarrassed. "My parents would never tell me the whole story. They said it was too horrible."

"What happened?! He only defeated the most evil wizard of all time!" said Parvati, exasperatedly.

"Oh, I know _that_," said Leine, hurriedly. "I know why he's famous. I just mean… What _happened_?"

"Well," said Granger, jumping at the chance to show off her knowledge, "about ten years ago, when he was at the height of his power, You-Know-Who killed Lily and James Potter."

"So after he kills the Potters he tries to go for Harry, right?" Interrupted Lavender, "But it didn't work! The spell back-fired and You-Know-Who died instead!"

"How?"

"No one knows," said Parvati, "That's why he's so famous. No one's ever survived the killing curse, and Harry Potter was only a baby."

"And that scar on his forehead? That's where the curse hit him." said Lavender.

"_Wow_" said Leine.

The girls stopped talking after that and started getting into their beds. Rebeca stood up absentmindedly, her sleepy brain slowly working to process this new information.

So, that was the story. That's why Harry was famous. He was famous for not dying. It didn't seem like that big of a deal to Rebeca. It had to be annoying though, everyone knowing his business. Turning his loss into legend. She was glad that she had found out though. Now she wouldn't feel out of the loop about her friend.

It did not matter to Rebeca one bit, what had happened to Harry that night, nor did she care that he was famous for it. All she cared was that she had found him.

And it was comforting to know that her new friend could escape death.

She crawled absentmindedly into bed. She only had a moment to realize what she was doing, before her head hit the pillow, and she was asleep.


End file.
